1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
10398
10399
10400
10401
10402
10403
10404
10405
10406
10407
10408
10409
10410
10411
10412
10413
10414
10415
10416
10417
10418
10419
10420
10421
10422
10423
10424
10425
10426
10427
10428
10429
10430
10431
10432
10433
10434
10435
10436
10437
10438
10439
10440
10441
10442
10443
10444
10445
10446
10447
10448
10449
10450
10451
10452
10453
10454
10455
10456
10457
10458
10459
10460
10461
10462
10463
10464
10465
10466
10467
10468
10469
10470
10471
10472
10473
10474
10475
10476
10477
10478
10479
10480
10481
10482
10483
10484
10485
10486
10487
10488
10489
10490
10491
10492
10493
10494
10495
10496
10497
10498
10499
10500
10501
10502
10503
10504
10505
10506
10507
10508
10509
10510
10511
10512
10513
10514
10515
10516
10517
10518
10519
10520
10521
10522
10523
10524
10525
10526
10527
10528
10529
10530
10531
10532
10533
10534
10535
10536
10537
10538
10539
10540
10541
10542
10543
10544
10545
10546
10547
10548
10549
10550
10551
10552
10553
10554
10555
10556
10557
10558
10559
10560
10561
10562
10563
10564
10565
10566
10567
10568
10569
10570
10571
10572
10573
10574
10575
10576
10577
10578
10579
10580
10581
10582
10583
10584
10585
10586
10587
10588
10589
10590
10591
10592
10593
10594
10595
10596
10597
10598
10599
10600
10601
10602
10603
10604
10605
10606
10607
10608
10609
10610
10611
10612
10613
10614
10615
10616
10617
10618
10619
10620
10621
10622
10623
10624
10625
10626
10627
10628
10629
10630
10631
10632
10633
10634
10635
10636
10637
10638
10639
10640
10641
10642
10643
10644
10645
10646
10647
10648
10649
10650
10651
10652
10653
10654
10655
10656
10657
10658
10659
10660
10661
10662
10663
10664
10665
10666
10667
10668
10669
10670
10671
10672
10673
10674
10675
10676
10677
10678
10679
10680
10681
10682
10683
10684
10685
10686
10687
10688
10689
10690
10691
10692
10693
10694
10695
10696
10697
10698
10699
10700
10701
10702
10703
10704
10705
10706
10707
10708
10709
10710
10711
10712
10713
10714
10715
10716
10717
10718
10719
10720
10721
10722
10723
10724
10725
10726
10727
10728
10729
10730
10731
10732
10733
10734
10735
10736
10737
10738
10739
10740
10741
10742
10743
10744
10745
10746
10747
10748
10749
10750
10751
10752
10753
10754
10755
10756
10757
10758
10759
10760
10761
10762
10763
10764
10765
10766
10767
10768
10769
10770
10771
10772
10773
10774
10775
10776
10777
10778
10779
10780
10781
10782
10783
10784
10785
10786
10787
10788
10789
10790
10791
10792
10793
10794
10795
10796
10797
10798
10799
10800
10801
10802
10803
10804
10805
10806
10807
10808
10809
10810
10811
10812
10813
10814
10815
10816
10817
10818
10819
10820
10821
10822
10823
10824
10825
10826
10827
10828
10829
10830
10831
10832
10833
10834
10835
10836
10837
10838
10839
10840
10841
10842
10843
10844
10845
10846
10847
10848
10849
10850
10851
10852
10853
10854
10855
10856
10857
10858
10859
10860
10861
10862
10863
10864
10865
10866
10867
10868
10869
10870
10871
10872
10873
10874
10875
10876
10877
10878
10879
10880
10881
10882
10883
10884
10885
10886
10887
10888
10889
10890
10891
10892
10893
10894
10895
10896
10897
10898
10899
10900
10901
10902
10903
10904
10905
10906
10907
10908
10909
10910
10911
10912
10913
10914
10915
10916
10917
10918
10919
10920
10921
10922
10923
10924
10925
10926
10927
10928
10929
10930
10931
10932
10933
10934
10935
10936
10937
10938
10939
10940
10941
10942
10943
10944
10945
10946
10947
10948
10949
10950
10951
10952
10953
10954
10955
10956
10957
10958
10959
10960
10961
10962
10963
10964
10965
10966
10967
10968
10969
10970
10971
10972
10973
10974
10975
10976
10977
10978
10979
10980
10981
10982
10983
10984
10985
10986
10987
10988
10989
10990
10991
10992
10993
10994
10995
10996
10997
10998
10999
11000
11001
11002
11003
11004
11005
11006
11007
11008
11009
11010
11011
11012
11013
11014
11015
11016
11017
11018
11019
11020
11021
11022
11023
11024
11025
11026
11027
11028
11029
11030
11031
11032
11033
11034
11035
11036
11037
11038
11039
11040
11041
11042
11043
11044
11045
11046
11047
11048
11049
11050
11051
11052
11053
11054
11055
11056
11057
11058
11059
11060
11061
11062
11063
11064
11065
11066
11067
11068
11069
11070
11071
11072
11073
11074
11075
11076
11077
11078
11079
11080
11081
11082
11083
11084
11085
11086
11087
11088
11089
11090
11091
11092
11093
11094
11095
11096
11097
11098
11099
11100
11101
11102
11103
11104
11105
11106
11107
11108
11109
11110
11111
11112
11113
11114
11115
11116
11117
11118
11119
11120
11121
11122
11123
11124
11125
11126
11127
11128
11129
11130
11131
11132
11133
11134
11135
11136
11137
11138
11139
11140
11141
11142
11143
11144
11145
11146
11147
11148
11149
11150
11151
11152
11153
11154
11155
11156
11157
11158
11159
11160
11161
11162
11163
11164
11165
11166
11167
11168
11169
11170
11171
11172
11173
11174
11175
11176
11177
11178
11179
11180
11181
11182
11183
11184
11185
11186
11187
11188
11189
11190
11191
11192
11193
11194
11195
11196
11197
11198
11199
11200
11201
11202
11203
11204
11205
11206
11207
11208
11209
11210
11211
11212
11213
11214
11215
11216
11217
11218
11219
11220
11221
11222
11223
11224
11225
11226
11227
11228
11229
11230
11231
11232
11233
11234
11235
11236
11237
11238
11239
11240
11241
11242
11243
11244
11245
11246
11247
11248
11249
11250
11251
11252
11253
11254
11255
11256
11257
11258
11259
11260
11261
11262
11263
11264
11265
11266
11267
11268
11269
11270
11271
11272
11273
11274
11275
11276
11277
11278
11279
11280
11281
11282
11283
11284
11285
11286
11287
11288
11289
11290
11291
11292
11293
11294
11295
11296
11297
11298
11299
11300
11301
11302
11303
11304
11305
11306
11307
11308
11309
11310
11311
11312
11313
11314
11315
11316
11317
11318
11319
11320
11321
11322
11323
11324
11325
11326
11327
11328
11329
11330
11331
11332
11333
11334
11335
11336
11337
11338
11339
11340
11341
11342
11343
11344
11345
11346
11347
11348
11349
11350
11351
11352
11353
11354
11355
11356
11357
11358
11359
11360
11361
11362
11363
11364
11365
11366
11367
11368
11369
11370
11371
11372
11373
11374
11375
11376
11377
11378
11379
11380
11381
11382
11383
11384
11385
11386
11387
11388
11389
11390
11391
11392
11393
11394
11395
11396
11397
11398
11399
11400
11401
11402
11403
11404
11405
11406
11407
11408
11409
11410
11411
11412
11413
11414
11415
11416
11417
11418
11419
11420
11421
11422
11423
11424
11425
11426
11427
11428
11429
11430
11431
11432
11433
11434
11435
11436
11437
11438
11439
11440
11441
11442
11443
11444
11445
11446
11447
11448
11449
11450
11451
11452
11453
11454
11455
11456
11457
11458
11459
11460
11461
11462
11463
11464
11465
11466
11467
11468
11469
11470
11471
11472
11473
11474
11475
11476
11477
11478
11479
11480
11481
11482
11483
11484
11485
11486
11487
11488
11489
11490
11491
11492
11493
11494
11495
11496
11497
11498
11499
11500
11501
11502
11503
11504
11505
11506
11507
11508
11509
11510
11511
11512
11513
11514
11515
11516
11517
11518
11519
11520
11521
11522
11523
11524
11525
11526
11527
11528
11529
11530
11531
11532
11533
11534
11535
11536
11537
11538
11539
11540
11541
11542
11543
11544
11545
11546
11547
11548
11549
11550
11551
11552
11553
11554
11555
11556
11557
11558
11559
11560
11561
11562
11563
11564
11565
11566
11567
11568
11569
11570
11571
11572
11573
11574
11575
11576
11577
11578
11579
11580
11581
11582
11583
11584
11585
11586
11587
11588
11589
11590
11591
11592
11593
11594
11595
11596
11597
11598
11599
11600
11601
11602
11603
11604
11605
11606
11607
11608
11609
11610
11611
11612
11613
11614
|
<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<head>
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" />
<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Their Majesties as I Knew Them, by Xavier Paoli</title>
<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
<style type="text/css">
body {margin-left: 10%;
margin-right: 10%;}
h1,h2,h3,h4 {text-align: center;
clear: both;}
.bord {border: solid 1px;
margin-left: 5%;
margin-right: 5%;
margin-bottom: 1em;}
div.sum {page-break-before: always;
page-break-after: always;}
div.break {page-break-before: always;}
p {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: justify;
margin-bottom: 0em;
text-indent: 1.5em;}
.pfn {margin-top: 0.5em;
text-align: justify;
margin-bottom: 0;
text-indent: 0;}
.pn {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: justify;
margin-bottom: 0em;
text-indent: 0em;}
.pq {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: justify;
margin-left: 7%;
margin-right: 7%;
font-size: 90%;
text-indent: 1.2em;}
.pqn {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: justify;
margin-bottom: 0em;
margin-left: 7%;
margin-right: 7%;
font-size: 90%;
text-indent: 0em;}
.pq0 {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: justify;
font-size: 90%;
text-indent: 0em;}
.pq10 {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: left;
margin-bottom: 0em;
margin-left: 10%;
margin-right: 7%;
font-size: 90%;
text-indent: 0em;}
.pq15 {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: left;
margin-bottom: 0em;
margin-left: 15%;
margin-right: 7%;
font-size: 90%;
text-indent: 0em;}
.pq20 {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: left;
margin-bottom: 0em;
margin-left: 20%;
margin-right: 7%;
font-size: 90%;
text-indent: 0em;}
.pq25 {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: left;
margin-bottom: 0em;
margin-left: 25%;
margin-right: 7%;
font-size: 90%;
text-indent: 0em;}
.pq30 {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: left;
margin-bottom: 0em;
margin-left: 30%;
margin-right: 7%;
font-size: 90%;
text-indent: 0em;}
.pq40 {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: left;
margin-bottom: 0em;
margin-left: 40%;
margin-right: 7%;
font-size: 90%;
text-indent: 0em;}
.pq50 {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: left;
margin-bottom: 0em;
margin-left: 50%;
margin-right: 7%;
font-size: 90%;
text-indent: 0em;}
.pq60 {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: left;
margin-bottom: 0em;
margin-left: 60%;
margin-right: 7%;
font-size: 90%;
text-indent: 0em;}
.pf60 {margin-top: 0.2em;
text-align: left;
margin-bottom: 0em;
margin-left: 60%;
text-indent: 0em;}
.ptn {margin-top: 0.3em;
text-align: justify;
margin-bottom: 0;
text-indent: -1em;
margin-left: 2%;}
.p1 {margin-top: 1em;}
.p2 {margin-top: 2em;}
.p4 {margin-top: 4em;}
.b1 {margin-bottom: 1em;}
.b2 {margin-bottom: 2em;}
.little {font-size: 60%;}
.small {font-size: 75%;}
.reduct {font-size: 90%;}
.lmid {font-size: 110%;}
.mid {font-size: 125%;}
.large {font-size: 150%;}
.elarge {font-size: 175%;}
.xlarge {font-size: 200%;}
hr {width: 33%;
margin-top: 2em;
margin-bottom: 2em;
margin-left: 33.5%;
margin-right: 33.5%;
clear: both;}
hr.dec1 {width: 10%;
margin-top: 1em;
margin-bottom: 1em;
margin-left: 45%;
margin-right: 45%;
clear: both;}
hr.chap {width: 65%;
margin-left: 17.5%;
margin-right: 17.5%;}
table {margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto;}
.tdc {text-align: center;}
.tdlh {text-align: left;
vertical-align: top;}
.tdrh {text-align: right;
vertical-align: top;}
.tdrl {text-align: right;
vertical-align: bottom;}
#toc1 {width: 90%;
line-height: 1em;
margin-top: 1em;}
#toc2 {width: 90%;
line-height: 1em;
margin-top: 1em;}
#t01 {width: 90%;
line-height: 1em;
margin-top: 1em;}
#t02 {width: 90%;
line-height: 1em;
margin-top: 1em;}
.pagenum {visibility: hidden;
position: absolute;
left: 94%;
font-size: smaller;
text-align: right;
text-indent: 0em;
font-style: normal;
font-weight: normal;}
.center {text-align: center;}
.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;}
.caption {font-weight: bold;}
.figcenter {
margin: auto;
text-align: center;
}
.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;}
.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;}
.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;}
.fnanchor {vertical-align: super;
font-size: .8em;
text-decoration: none;
font-style: normal;
font-weight: normal;}
.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA;
color: black;
font-size:smaller;
padding:0.5em;
margin-bottom:5em;
font-family:sans-serif, serif;}
hr.full { width: 100%;
margin-top: 3em;
margin-bottom: 0em;
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto;
height: 4px;
border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */
border-style: solid;
border-color: #000000;
clear: both; }
</style>
</head>
<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45786 ***</div>
<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Their Majesties as I Knew Them, by Xavier
Paoli, Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos</h1>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10">
<tr>
<td valign="top">
Note:
</td>
<td>
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
<a href="https://archive.org/details/theirmajestiesas00paoluoft">
https://archive.org/details/theirmajestiesas00paoluoft</a>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p> </p>
<hr class="full" />
<p> </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-001.jpg" width="400" height="401"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">QUEEN AMELIE OF PORTUGAL</p>
</div></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p>
<div class="sum">
<h1 class="p4">THEIR MAJESTIES AS I KNEW THEM</h1>
<p class="pn p2 center"><i>PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF THE
KINGS AND QUEENS OF EUROPE</i></p>
<p class="pn center p4">BY</p>
<p class="pn center mid">XAVIER PAOLI</p>
<p class="pn center p4"><span class="small">TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH BY</span><br />
A. TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS</p>
<p class="pn p4 center">ILLUSTRATED</p>
<p class="pn p4 center">New York<br />
<span class="lmid">STURGIS & WALTON<br />
COMPANY</span><br />
1911</p>
<p class="pn center small"><i>All rights reserved</i></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p>
<p class="pn p4 center reduct">Copyright 1911<br />
By STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY</p>
<hr class="dec1" />
<p class="pn b2 center small">Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1911<br />
</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-004.jpg" width="400" height="635"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">M. XAVIER PAOLI</p>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="sum">
<p class="pn b1 center p4 elarge">CONTENTS</p>
<table id="toc1" summary="cont">
<tr>
<td class="tdrh"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></td>
<td rowspan="12"> </td>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdrl"><span class="small">PAGE</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdlh">INTRODUCTION</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_v">v</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrh">I</td>
<td class="tdlh">THE EMPEROR AND EMPRESS OF AUSTRIA</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrh">II</td>
<td class="tdlh">KING ALFONSO XIII</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrh">III</td>
<td class="tdlh">THE SHAH OF PERSIA</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrh">IV</td>
<td class="tdlh">THE TSAR NICHOLAS II AND THE TSARITSA ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrh">V</td>
<td class="tdlh">THE KING AND QUEEN OF ITALY</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrh">VI</td>
<td class="tdlh">GEORGE I, KING OF THE HELLENES</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrh">VII</td>
<td class="tdlh">QUEEN WILHELMINA OF THE NETHERLANDS</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrh">VIII</td>
<td class="tdlh">THE LATE KING OF THE BELGIANS</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrh">IX</td>
<td class="tdlh">THE ENGLISH ROYAL FAMILY</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_301">301</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrh">X</td>
<td class="tdlh">THE KING OF CAMBODIA AND HIS DANCING-GIRLS</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_329">329</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">INTRODUCTION</h2>
<p class="pn p2 center large">M. XAVIER PAOLI</p>
<p class="pn p1 center mid">THE "CHAMBERLAIN" OF THE FRENCH REPUBLIC
AND THE FRIEND OF SOVEREIGNS</p>
<p class="pn p2">It was in 1903, and the King of England was
making his first official journey in France since
succeeding Queen Victoria on the throne of
Great Britain. In the court of the British Embassy
in Paris, where the sovereign had taken up
his residence, a group of journalists, pencil and
notebook in hand, was crowding importunate,
full of questions, around a vivacious little gentleman,
very precisely dressed in black, wearing the
red rosette of the Legion of Honour in the buttonhole
of his silk-faced frock coat. An impressive
silk hat, slightly tipped, sheltered a head of abundant
wavy white hair, strikingly in contrast with
the man's still youthful appearance; at the utmost
he seemed to be hardly fifty years old.</p>
<p>His aristocratic bearing might have been that of
a diplomat of the Empire or a Tuscan aristocrat.
The sensitive features of his finely oval face—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span>
straight, delicately formed nose, the piercing eyes,
now bright with shrewd humour, now soft with
gentle sympathy—all spoke the judicial mind, the
penetrating observation, which could scrutinise the
most secret thoughts, recognise the slightest shades
of feeling.</p>
<p>Calmly, manfully, smilingly, with courtesy, the
little gentleman sustained the assault of the reporters
and warded off their indiscreet curiosity.</p>
<p>"What did the King say to M. Loubet?"</p>
<p>"Gentlemen, the King has told me none of his
secrets."</p>
<p>"Did he not come for the purpose of completing
a treaty of military alliance with us, and is he not
to have this evening an important interview with
the Minister of Foreign Affairs?"</p>
<p>"His Majesty had a very comfortable journey,
is in the best of spirits, and appears to be delighted
to be in Paris."</p>
<p>"But—"</p>
<p>"His Majesty brought with him his little griffon
dog, and immediately on arriving he asked for port
wine and sandwiches."</p>
<p>"I beg—"</p>
<p>"I may even say that the King will go to hear
Sarah Bernhardt this evening, and that at the
present moment he is busy with his secretary looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span>
over the voluminous mail which has just arrived
from London. In fact—"</p>
<p>"Pardon me—is it true that yesterday you arrested
some suspected anarchists?"</p>
<p>"Anarchists? What are they?" And with
these words the little gentleman still smiling turned
away, to the discomfiture of the journalists, while
certain English and French officers who, full of
excitement, were crossing the great court, saluted
him with courteous deference.</p>
<p>This little gentleman, whom I then saw for the
first time, was M. Xavier Paoli.</p>
<p>When the time comes for writing the history of
the Third French Republic—not its political history,
which is already sufficiently well known, but
the other, its picturesque, anecdotic, private history,
that which must be sought behind the scenes
of a government, and shows the little causes which
often produced the great effects—when that history
comes to be written, it is certain that a long
chapter and perhaps the most interesting, will be
devoted to M. Paoli.</p>
<p>He is, in fact, a unique and singular character,
a personage "apart," extraordinarily attractive,
somewhat disconcerting, but wonderfully interesting
in the group of French functionaries who have
rendered real and precious service to their country.
His official title was until very recently, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span>
had been for twenty-five years, that of Special
Commissioner of Railways for the Ministry of the
Interior. This title, somewhat commonplace, is in
itself intentionally obscure, tells nothing of the
man or his office. The old proverb says: "The
habit does not make the monk," and it may here
be added that the title does not always designate
the function. Attached to the political police, but
in no respect appearing like a policeman, a sort
of Sherlock Holmes, but a very high and particular
ideal of Sherlock Holmes until now unknown, M.
Paoli's three-fold and delicate mission was to watch
over the foreign sovereigns and princes who for
the past twenty-five years had been coming to
France incognito, to facilitate their relations with
the government, and on the whole, to quote M.
Paoli's own words "to make their stay among us
as pleasant as possible." "The guardian of
Kings," as the King of Greece one day called him,
was at the same time a keen diplomat. He, in
fact, personified and filled an office which, notwithstanding
its paradoxical aspect, proved to be of
incontestible utility: he was the Grand Chamberlain
of the Republic, accredited to its imperial and
royal guests.</p>
<p>How was he brought to take up this important
and difficult duty? How did he come to have all
the necessary qualities to perform it, as he did,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span>
with equally remarkable facility, ease and tact?
Psychology makes answer that motives must be
sought in the origin, the early experience and subsequent
career of the personality with whom we
are concerned.</p>
<p>Like the great Napoleon, for whom he has always
felt a touching adoration, M. Paoli is a Corsican.
He was born in 1835 at La Porta, a picturesque
little town perched like an eagle's nest
on the crest of a hill on the eastern slope of the
island, overlooking the sea, with the Island of
Elba and the coast of Tuscany in the distance.
His ancestor was that celebrated and fiery General
Paoli, who at the close of the previous century
stirred up a patriotic agitation in Corsica;
on his mother's side he was a descendant of Marshal
Sebastiani, who was ambassador and minister
of Foreign Affairs in the reign of Louis
Philippe. From his earliest youth, Xavier Paoli,
like all Corsicans was passionately interested in
politics. In 1859 a decree of the Emperor Napoleon
III, who greatly esteemed this honourable and
popular family, nominated young Paoli mayor of
La Porta. According to custom the young official
went to Ajaccio to pay his respects to the Prefect.
This high functionary, on perceiving him, could not
conceal his surprise.</p>
<p>"I am much pleased to make your acquaintance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span>
young man," he said, "but I had supposed that
your father would come himself."</p>
<p>"The trouble is that my father has been dead for
several years."</p>
<p>"What! He has not just now been nominated
mayor of La Porta?"</p>
<p>"No, Mr. Prefect, it was I."</p>
<p>He was only twenty-five years old.</p>
<p>Two years later, being elected Councillor General
of his canton, he united the two functions,
giving to his fellow citizens an example of precocious
administrative ability and a keen appreciation
of the interests of his constituents. Local
politics, however, "does not feed its men" as the
proverb says, especially when like M. Paoli, the
politician is thoroughly disinterested. The Paoli
family had long been engaged in the oil trade, but
the business which once brought in a comfortable
livelihood had been declining, having been carried
on with less perseverance and attention than formerly.
Young Paoli perceived that he must not
count upon the family business to make his fortune;
in fact, politics were swallowing up his
modest revenue. He, therefore, resolved to alter
his plan of life, to leave the island where he had
achieved a precocious popularity, where he was esteemed
and beloved.</p>
<p>His friends in Paris proposed to obtain for him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span>
an under-prefecture, but he preferred a simple post
of Police Magistrate at 1800 francs, to the great
scandal of his family, who considered him to have
lowered himself on entering the police service.</p>
<p>"Let me alone," replied M. Paoli, "I feel that
my future is at stake, and that I shall be safer
in being inconspicuous."</p>
<p>And, in fact, when, four years later, the Empire
fell, it was due to the modesty of M. Paoli's
position that he was not involved in the fall. At
the time he was police commissary in the railway
station at Modena on the Italian frontier, and he
had the tact to make himself so useful to the new
Prefect that although he by no means paid court
to the new government, like so many others, the
latter was glad to confirm him in his functions.
The Modena station was an important outpost of
observation and inspection on the great European
highway, princes incognito, statesmen on their
travels, Italian anarchists leaving their country on
some mysterious mission—all passed that way.
Not one of them escaped M. Paoli's vigilant eye.
This humble position afforded him the opportunity
to show his great qualifications of perspicacity and
tact. He was sent to Nice, and other cosmopolitan
centres, where all classes and peoples meet and
mingle; before long he was called to Paris. It was
at this juncture, and thanks to Queen Victoria,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span>
that his mission as "Guardian of Kings" became
clear.</p>
<p>The French Republic was at that time by no
means "persona grata" at foreign courts. The
daughter of the Commune of 1871, her cap still
vaguely besmirched, her acts problematical, they
were all afraid of her, hardly daring to receive or
to visit her. And yet some line of conduct must
be adopted: it was not possible always to keep under
ban the lovely land of France.</p>
<p>A little King of no importance—I think it was
the King of Wurtemburg—was the first to risk
himself among us. He was M. Paoli's first client.</p>
<p>When at last the Queen of England, upon the
advice of her physicians, decided to exchange the
chill banks of the Thames for the sunny gardens
of the Côte d'Azur, it was to M. Paoli that the
government of the Republic intrusted the duty of
doing the honours of the French territory and assuring
her safety during her sojourn among us.
He acquitted himself of this delicate task with
such success as immediately gained the confidence
of the venerable Queen to such an extent that she
desired her ambassador to write to the French
Minister of Foreign Affairs that thenceforth she
wished that no other functionary than M. Paoli
should watch over her during her visits to France.
Each year, therefore, she found him faithful to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span>
his charge, awaiting her arrival either at Cherbourg
or Calais.</p>
<p>From this time, M. Paoli became the indispensable
personage for all the sovereigns and princes
who undertook to visit our country, and therefore
indispensable to the Republican government, who
found in M. Paoli a perfect intermediary between
itself and them. During twenty-five years he
successively escorted to our watering places and
seashore resorts fifteen emperors or kings, half a
dozen empresses and queens, and countless numbers
of princes of the blood, grand dukes and other
princely globe trotters. He was admitted to their
confidences, understood their impressions. To
most of them, who continually saw our ministers
appear and disappear, and who each time they
came received the homage of new personages, M.
Paoli personified the Republic which, with whatever
petty quarrels and changes of officials, was
always calm and smiling to its guests in the drawing-room.
France, indeed, profited by the precious
friendship which M. Paoli won for himself. "He
is a model functionary, he has made the Republic
beloved by Kings," exclaimed M. Félix Faure one
day in my presence. And I remember another
striking reflection of the regretted President.</p>
<p>As he came out of the hotel of the Empress of
Austria where he had been visiting at Cap Martin,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span>
some one asked him what had been the subject
of his interview with the sovereign.</p>
<p>"The Empress, gentlemen, spoke of nothing except
of M. Paoli, whose courtesy and tact she
praised without reserve."</p>
<p>What tribute could have been more flattering,
indeed, than the invitation which he received from
Queen Victoria to be present at her jubilee, and
to accept the hospitality of Buckingham Palace?
And after her death the royal family begged him
to be present at her obsequies, and during all the
sad solemnities treated him as a faithful and devoted
friend.</p>
<p>And finally, what finer recognition of the "Protector
of Sovereigns" than the remark of the King
of England—then the Prince of Wales—when in
the railway station of Brussels he was fired upon
by the young anarchist Sipido—"If Paoli had been
here," he said, "the rascal would have been arrested
before he could use his weapon."</p>
<p>In fact, M. Paoli was always able to shield his
clients from painful surprises and dramatic dangers.
His art was always to appear ignorant of
the fact that there were anarchists in the world,
while at the same time keeping them constantly
under the strictest watch. I believe that he was
popular even among them, and that their esteem
for this just and good man was so great that they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span>
would not, for anything in the world, have caused
him—annoyance!</p>
<p>It is a curious fact that he never carried a
weapon. The King of Siam was greatly disconcerted
when he learned that M. Paoli had been
charged to protect him during his visit to France
in 1896.</p>
<p>"But where are your pistols and your poniards?"
he would ask him every few minutes.</p>
<p>M. Paoli appears to cherish no vanity on account
of the august interest with which he has been honoured,
and the important part which during
twenty-five years he has performed with as much
intelligence as precision. He is still the affable
and simple man which he always was. He may
be the most decorated functionary in France—he
possesses forty-two foreign decorations—but these
seem to make him neither prouder nor happier.
His only joy is to live quietly in his retreat, among
his memories. His very modest apartment is a
museum such as has no equal, harbouring all the
sovereigns of yesterday and of to-day. Alphonso
XIII and his young wife are in company with
the royal pair of Italy, the Emperor of Russia
seems to be conversing with the Emperor of Austria,
the Queen of Saxony receives the salutation
of the King of the Bulgarians, while listening to
the poems which the Queen of Roumania appears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span>
to be reciting to her. The aged King Christian
is smiling upon his innumerable grandchildren,
the Prince of Wales is talking with his son, the
Shah of Persia gazes upon the Bey of Tunis; and
dominating all these crowned heads, the good
Queen Victoria smiling from her golden frame,
looks happily around upon all her family. To
these photographs, each with its precious autograph,
are added most touching testimonials of
affection and esteem, letters entirely written by
sovereign hands, jewels of inestimable price, the
gifts of august clients. M. Paoli is in fact the
only Frenchman who can at one time wear a cravat
pin given by the Emperor of Austria, a watch
offered by the King of Greece, a chain presented
by Queen Victoria, a cane from the King of
Sweden, a cigarette holder from the Emperor of
Russia, a match box from the King of England,
and—I cease, for the list would be interminable.</p>
<p>As may easily be perceived, the "Guardian of
Kings" has often been asked to write his memoirs.
One cannot have been intimate with sovereigns for
twenty-five years and not have a whole book—many
volumes, indeed—of impressions and memories
in the brain. But precisely because he has
been the travelling companion of illustrious guests
of the nation, he has believed himself bound to
absolute silence and a perhaps excessive discretion.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span></p>
<p>Happily, arguments have at last prevailed over
these exaggerated scruples. M. Paoli has come to
perceive that by relating his personal recollections,
he would be making a useful contribution to the
history of our time, correcting many errors which
have slipped voluntarily or involuntarily into accounts
of certain contemporary sovereigns.</p>
<p>M. Paoli has therefore yielded to persuasion,
and has committed to writing the story of his many
journeys in the company of Kings, reviving his
memories of former days. I have been happy in
collaborating with this interesting and charming
man, and I hope that our readers may enjoy as
happy hours in reading these memories as I myself
have enjoyed in hearing them related to me.</p>
<p class="pf60"><span class="smcap">Rene Lara.</span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a><br /><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span></p>
<div class="sum">
<h2 class="p4">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
<table id="toc2" summary="ill">
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">Queen Amelie of Portugal</td>
<td class="tdrl"><span class="reduct"><i>Frontispiece</i></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="tdrl"><span class="little">FACING PAGE</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">M. Xavier Paoli</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_v">v</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">The Empress of Austria</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">The Emperor and Empress of Austria</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">The King of Spain, Princess Henry of Battenberg, Princess Victoria Eugenia and M. Paoli</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">The King and Queen of Spain and Baby</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">The Shah of Persia</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">The Shah leaving the Élyseé Palace</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">The Emperor and Empress of Russia and the Grand Duke Alexis</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">The Empress of Russia and the Grand Duchess Marie</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">The King and Queen of Italy</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">The King and Queen of Italy and the Crown Prince</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">King George of Greece in the Streets of Paris</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">Queen Wilhelmina</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</a></span>King Leopold II</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_271">271</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">Princess Clémentine</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">King Edward VII</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_303">303</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">King Edward arriving at the Élyseé Palace</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_318">318</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">King Edward on the way to Church</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_318">318</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">The King of Cambodia</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_328">328</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdlh">King Sisowath's Dancers before the President at the Élyseé Palace</td>
<td class="tdrl"><a href="#Page_344">344</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span><br /></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span><br /></p>
<div class="break">
<p class="pn p4 center elarge">THEIR MAJESTIES AS I KNEW THEM</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p>
<h2 class="p2">I</h2>
<p class="pn center p2 large">THE EMPEROR AND EMPRESS OF AUSTRIA</p>
<h3 class="p2">1.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">The infinitely fascinating and melancholy
image of the Empress Elizabeth of Austria
represents a special type among all
the royal and imperial majesties to whose persons
I have been attached during their different stays
in France; and this both on account of her life,
which was one long romance, and of her death,
which was a tragedy.</p>
<p>Hers was a strong, sad soul; and she disappeared
suddenly, as in a dream of terror. She hovers
round my memory crowned with the halo of unhappiness.</p>
<p>The first time that I saw her was at Geneva;
and I cannot recall this detail without emotion,
for it was at Geneva that she was to die under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
the assassin's dagger. At the end of August,
1895, the Government received notice from the
French Embassy in Vienna that the Empress was
about to visit Aix-les-Bains in Savoy. She was
to travel from her palace of Miramar through
Italy and Switzerland; and, as usual, I received
my formal letter of appointment from the Ministry
of the Interior, instructing me to go and meet
the Empress at the International railway-station
at Geneva.</p>
<p>I confess that, when I stepped into the train,
I experienced a keen sense of curiosity at the
thought that I was soon to find myself in the presence
of the lady who was already surrounded by
an atmosphere of legend and who was known as
"the wandering empress."</p>
<p>I had been told numerous more or less veracious
stories of her restless and romantic life; I had
heard that she talked little, that she smiled but
rarely and that she always seemed to be pursuing
a distant dream.</p>
<p>My first impression, however, when I saw her
alighting from her carriage on the Geneva platform,
was very different from that which I was
prepared to receive. The Empress, at that time,
was fifty-eight years of age. She looked like a
girl, she had the figure of a girl, with a girl's lightness
and grace of movement.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p>
<p>Tall and slender, with a touch of stiffness in her
bearing, she had a rather fresh-coloured face, deep,
dark and extraordinarily bright eyes and a wealth
of chestnut hair. I realised later that she owed
her vivacious colouring to the long walks which
she was in the constant habit of taking. She wore
a smartly-cut black tailor-made dress, which accentuated
her slimness. The beauty of her figure
was a matter of which she was frankly vain; she
weighed herself every day.</p>
<p>I was also struck by the smallness of her hands,
the musical intonation of her voice and the purity
with which she expressed herself in French, although
she pronounced it with a slightly guttural
accent.</p>
<p>One disappointment, however, awaited me; my
reception was icy cold. In spite of the experience
which I had acquired during the exercise of my
special functions, it left me none the less disconcerted.
My feeling of discomfort was still further
increased when, on reaching Aix-les-Bains, General
Berzeviczy, whom I had asked for an interview in
order to arrange for the organisation of my department,
answered drily:</p>
<p>"We sha'n't want anybody."</p>
<p>These four words, beyond a doubt, constituted
a formal dismissal, an invitation, both plain and
succinct, to take the first train back to Paris. My<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
position became one of singular embarrassment.
Invested with a confidential mission, I was beginning
by inspiring distrust precisely in those to
whom this mission was addressed; charged to watch
and remove "suspects," I myself appeared to be
the most suspected of all!</p>
<p>Nevertheless, I resolved that I would not be denied.
I organised my service without the knowledge
of our guests. Every morning, I returned to
see General Berzeviczy. Avoiding any allusion to
the real object of my visit, I did my best to overcome
his coldness. The general was a very kind
man at heart and a charming talker. I therefore
told him the gossip of the day, the news from Paris,
the tittle-tattle of Aix. I advised excursions,
pointed out the curiosities worth seeing, conscientiously
fulfilled my part as a Baedeker, and,
when I carelessly questioned the general concerning
the Empress's intentions as to the employment
of her day, he forgot himself to the extent of telling
me. This was all that I wanted to know.</p>
<p>In a week's time we were the best of friends.
The Empress had condescended to appreciate my
frankness in daily covering the table with newspapers
and reviews. She gradually became accustomed
to seeing me appear just in time to forestall
her wishes. The game was won; and, when, later,
curious to know the cause of what appeared to me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>
to have been a misunderstanding, I asked General
Berzeviczy to explain the reason of his disconcerting
reception, he replied:</p>
<p>"It was simply because, when we go abroad, they
generally send us officials who, under the pretext
of protecting us, terrorise us. They appear to us
like Banquo's ghost, with doleful faces and shifting
eyes; they see assassins everywhere; they poison
and embitter our holidays. That is why you appeared
so suspicious to us at first."</p>
<p>"And now?"</p>
<p>"Now," he answered with a smile, "the experiment
has been made. You have fortunately broken
with an ugly tradition. In your case, we forget
the official, and remember only the friend."</p>
<h3 class="p2">2.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">In the course of the three visits which the Empress
Elizabeth paid to France between 1895 and
1898, I had every opportunity of studying, in the
intimacy of its daily life, that little wandering
court swayed by the melancholy and fascinating
figure of its sovereign. She led an active and solitary
existence. Rising, winter and summer, at
five o'clock, she began by taking a warm bath in
distilled water, followed by electric massage, after
which, even though it were still dark, she would go
out into the air.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p>
<p>Clad in a black serge gown, ultra-simple in character,
she walked at a smart pace along the paths
of the garden, or, if it were raining, perambulated
the long passages which run out of the halls or
"lounges" of most hotels. Sometimes she would
venture on the roads and look for a fine point of
view—by preference, the top of a rock—from which
she loved to watch the sunrise.</p>
<p>She returned at seven o'clock and breakfasted
lightly on a cup of tea with a single biscuit. She
then disappeared into her apartments and devoted
two hours to her toilet.</p>
<p>Her second meal was taken at eleven and consisted
of a cup of clear soup, an egg and one or
two glasses of meat-juice, extracted every morning
out of several pounds of fillet of beef by means of
a special apparatus which accompanied her on her
travels. She also tasted a light dish or two, with
a preference for sweets. Immediately after lunch,
she went out again, accompanied, this time, by her
Greek reader.</p>
<p>This Greek reader was a very important person.
He formed one of the suite on every journey.
Selected from among the young scholars of the
University of Athens, and often appointed by the
Greek Government, he was changed year by year.
I, for my part, have known three different readers.
Their duties consisted in talking with the Empress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
in the Greek language, ancient and modern, both
of which she spoke with equal facility.</p>
<p>This might have appeared to be a quaint fancy,
but it was explained as soon as the Empress's
mental condition was better understood. Haunted
by a melancholy past, romantic by temperament
and poetic by instinct, she had sought a refuge in
literature and the arts. Greece personified in her
imagination the land of beauty which her dreams
incessantly evoked; she had a passionate love for
antiquity, loved its artists and its poets; she wanted
to be able, everywhere and at all times, when the
obsession of her sorrowful memories became too intense,
to escape from the pitiless phantoms that
pursued her and in some way to isolate her thoughts
from the realities of life. The scholarly conversation
of the young Greek <i>savant</i> made this effort
easier for her; in the varied and picturesque surroundings
which her æsthetic tastes demanded, she
took Homer and Plato for her companions; and
thus to the delight of the eyes was added the most
delicate satisfaction of the mind.</p>
<p>The Greek reader, therefore, was the faithful
participator in her afternoon walks, which lasted
until dusk, and the Empress often covered a distance
of fifteen to twenty miles on end. For
twenty years, she had obstinately refused to allow
herself to be photographed; she dreaded the professional<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
indiscretion of amateur photographers;
and no sooner did she perceive a camera aimed in
her direction than she quickly unfurled a black
feather fan and modestly concealed her face, leaving
nothing visible above the feathers but her great,
wide, never-to-be-forgotten eyes, which had retained
all the splendour and fire of her youth.</p>
<p>The young Greek's duties, however, were not
confined to talking to the Empress on her walks.
Sometimes the reader would read. Carrying a book
which she had selected beforehand, he read a few
chapters to her during the rests by the roadside,
on the mountain-tops, or at the deserted edge of
the sea. Later, he added the daily budget of cuttings
from the newspapers and reviews which I
prepared for Her Majesty, knowing the interest
which she took in the current events of the day.</p>
<p>He also carried on his arm a dark garment—a
skirt, in short. The Empress had the habit, in the
course of her long walks, of changing the skirt in
which she had started for one of a lighter material.
It was a question of health and comfort. This
little change of attire was effected in the most
primitive fashion. The Empress would disappear
behind a rock or a tree, while the reader, accustomed
to this rapid and discreet proceeding, waited
in the road, taking care to look the other way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
The Empress handed him the skirt which she had
cast off; and the walk was resumed.</p>
<p>On returning to the hotel, she made a frugal dinner,
consisting sometimes merely of a bowl of iced
milk and some raw eggs washed down with a glass
of Tokay, an almost savage dietary to which she
had forced herself in order to preserve the slimness
of figure which she prized so highly. She took all
her meals alone, in a private room, and seldom
passed the evening with her suite. Its members
hardly ever set eyes on her; sometimes the lady-in-waiting
spent day after day without so much as
seeing her imperial mistress.</p>
<p>Of the different places in France which Her
Majesty visited, the one which she loved above all
others was Cap Martin, the promontory which separates
the Bay of Monaco from that of Mentone.
She came here for three years in succession and
returned to it each time with an equal pleasure.
The softness of the climate, the wild beauty of the
views, the splendour of the luxurious vegetation
and the poetic solitude of the pine-forests and
orange-groves, reminded her of her property of
Achilleon in the island of Corfu and of her palace
of Miramar on the shores of the Adriatic. She
selected as her residence the enormous hotel that
stands at the end of the point, among the tall pines,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
the fields of rosemary, the clusters of myrtle and
arbutus.</p>
<p>The furniture of the imperial apartments was
marked by extreme simplicity, combined with perfect
taste, most of the pieces being of English
workmanship. Her bed-room was just the ordinary
hotel bed-room, with a brass bedstead surmounted
by a mosquito net, a mahogany dressing-table
and a few etchings hanging on the walls. On
the other hand, the management had placed beside
the bed, at her request, a system of electric bells
distinguished by their colours—white, yellow, green
and blue, which enabled her to summon that person
of her suite whose presence she required, without
having to disturb any of the others.</p>
<p>In addition to the ground floor, one other room
was reserved for her on every Sunday during her
visits. This was the billiard-room, which on that
day was transformed into a chapel. When the
Empress came to the Cap Martin Hôtel for the
first time, she inquired after a church, for she was
very religious. There was none in the immediate
neighbourhood; to hear mass one had to go to the
village of Roquebrune, the parish to which Cap
Martin belongs. The Empress then decided to
improvise a chapel in the hotel itself and, for this
purpose, selected the billiard-room, to which she
could repair without attracting attention. But the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>
rites of the Church require that every room in which
mass is said should first be consecrated; and none
save the bishop of the diocese is qualified to perform
the consecration. A ceremony of this kind
in an hotel and in a billiard-room would have been
rather embarrassing. The difficulty was overcome
in a curious and unexpected manner. There is an
old rule, by virtue of which the great dignitaries of
the religious Order of Malta enjoy the privilege of
consecrating any room in which they drop their
cloak. It was remembered that General Berzeviczy,
the Empress's chamberlain, occupied one of
the highest ranks in the knighthood of Malta. He
was therefore asked to drop his cloak in the billiard-room.
Thenceforward, every Sunday morning, the
Empress's footman put up a portable altar in front
of the tall oak chimney-piece. He arranged a
number of gilt chairs before it; and the old rector
of Roquebrune came and said mass, served by a
little acolyte to whom the lady-in-waiting handed a
gold coin when he went away....</p>
<p>The Empress was extremely generous; and her
generosity adopted the most delicate forms. Herself
so sad, she wished to see none but happy faces
ever about her. And so she always distributed
lavish gratuities to all who served her; and she
succoured all the poor of the country-side. Whenever,
in the course of her walks, she saw some humble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
cottage hidden in the mountain among the olive-trees,
she entered it, talked to the peasants, took
the little children on her knees and, as she feared
lest the sudden offer of a sum of money might offend
those whom she was anxious to assist, she
employed the most charming subterfuges. She
would ask leave to taste their fruit, paying for it
royally ... or else she bought several quarts
of milk, or dozens of eggs, which she told them to
bring to the hotel next day.</p>
<p>She ended, of course, by knowing all the walks
at Cap Martin and the neighbourhood. She set
out each morning with her faithful tramping companion,
the Greek reader. Sometimes, she would
go along the rocks on the shore, sometimes wend
her way through the woods; sometimes she would
climb the steep hills, scrambling "up to the goats,"
as the herds say.... She never mentioned
the destination or the direction of her excursions,
a thing which troubled me greatly, notwithstanding
that I had had the whole district searched and explored
beforehand. How was I to look after her?</p>
<p class="b1">"Set your mind at ease, my dear M. Paoli," she
used to say, laughing. "Nothing will happen to
me. What would you have them do to a poor
woman? Besides, we are no more than the petal
of a poppy or a ripple on the water!"</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-036.jpg" width="400" height="541"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">THE EMPRESS OF AUSTRIA</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">Nevertheless, I was not easy, the more so as she
obstinately refused to let one of my men follow her,
even at a distance. One evening, however, having
heard that some Italian navvies, who were at work
on the Mentone road, had spoken in threatening
terms of the crowned heads who are in the habit
of visiting that part of the country, I begged the
Empress to be pleased not to go in that direction
and was promptly snubbed for my pains.</p>
<p>"More of your fears," she replied. "I repeat,
I am not afraid of them ... and I make no
promise."</p>
<p>I was determined. I redoubled my supervision
and resolved to send one of my Corsican detectives,
fully armed, disguised and got up like a navvy,
with instructions to mix with the Italians who were
breaking stones on the road. He rigged himself
out in a canvas jacket and a pair of corduroy
trousers and made up his face to perfection.
Speaking Italian fluently, he diverted all suspicion
on the part of his mates, who took him for a newly-arrived
fellow-countryman of their own.</p>
<p>He was there, lynx-eyed, with ears pricked up,
doing his best to break a few stones, when suddenly
a figure which he at once recognised appeared at a
turn in the road. The night was beginning to fall;
the Empress, accompanied by her reader, was on
her way back to Cap Martin. Bending over his
heap of stones, the sham navvy waited rather anxiously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
When the Empress reached the group of
road-makers, she stopped, hesitated a moment and
then, noticing my man, doubtless because he looked
the oldest, went up to him and said, in her kind
way:</p>
<p>"Is that hard work you're doing, my good
man?"</p>
<p>Not daring to raise his head, he stammered a few
words in Italian.</p>
<p>"Don't you speak French?"</p>
<p>"<i>No, signora.</i>"</p>
<p>"Have you any children?"</p>
<p>"<i>Si, signora.</i>"</p>
<p>"Then take this for them," slipping a louis into
his hand. "Tell them that it comes from a lady
who is very fond of children." And the Empress
walked away.</p>
<p>That same evening, seeing me at the hotel, she
came up to me with laughing eyes:</p>
<p>"Well, M. Paoli, you may scold me, if you like.
I have been disobedient. I went along the Mentone
road to-day and I talked to a navvy."</p>
<p>It was my faithful Corsican.</p>
<p>Sometimes she ventured beyond the radius of her
usual walks. For instance, one afternoon she sent
for me on returning from a morning excursion:</p>
<p>"M. Paoli, you must be my escort to-day. You
shall take me to the Casino at Monte Carlo; I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
never been there. I must really, for once in my
life, see what a gambling-room is like."</p>
<p>Off we went—the Empress, Countess Sztaray,
and myself. It was decided that we should go by
train. We climbed into a first-class carriage in
which two English ladies were already seated.
The Empress, thoroughly enjoying her <i>incognito</i>,
sat down beside them. At Monte Carlo, we made
straight for the Casino and walked into the roulette-room.
The august visitor, who had slipped
through the crowd of punters leaning over the table,
followed each roll of the ball with her eyes, looking
as pleased and astonished as a child with a new toy.
Suddenly, she took a five-franc piece from her
hand-bag:</p>
<p>"Let me see if I have any luck," she said to us.
"I believe in number 33."</p>
<p>She put the big coin on number 33 <i>en plein</i>. At
the first spin of the wheel, it lost. She put on another
and lost again. The third time, number 33
turned up. The croupier pushed 175 francs across
to her with his rake. She gathered it up, and then,
turning gaily to us, said:</p>
<p>"Let us go away quickly. I have never won so
much money in my life."</p>
<p>And she dragged us from the Casino.</p>
<p>Whenever she went to Monte Carlo, she never
failed to go and have tea at Rumpelmayer, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
famous Viennese confectioner's, for, as I have already
said, she adored pastry and sweets. The
Rumpelmayer establishments at Mentone, Nice and
Monte Carlo were well aware of the identity of
their regular customer; but she had asked them not
to betray her <i>incognito</i>. When there were many
people in the shop, she would sit down at a little
table near the counter; and nobody would have suspected
that the simple, comely lady in black, who
talked so familiarly with the girls in the pay-box
and at the counter, was the Empress of Austria and
Queen of Hungary.</p>
<h3 class="p2">3.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">The Emperor joined the Empress on three occasions
during her visits to Cap Martin. The event
naturally created a diversion in the monotony of
our sojourn. Though travelling <i>incognito</i> as
Count Hohenembs, he was accompanied by a fairly
numerous suite, whose presence brought a great
animation into our little colony. I had, of course,
to redouble my measures of protection and to send
to Paris for an additional force of detective-inspectors.</p>
<p>Francis Joseph generally spent a fortnight with
his consort. I thus had the opportunity of observing
the touching affection which they displayed to
each other, in spite of the gossip of which certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
sections of the press have made themselves the complacent
echo. Nothing could be simpler or more
charming than their meetings. As soon as the
train stopped at Mentone station, where the Empress
went to wait its arrival, accompanied by the
members of her suite, the Austrian Consul, the Prefect
of the Alpes-Maritimes, the Mayor of Mentone
and myself, the Emperor sprang lightly to
the platform and hastened, bare-headed, to the Empress,
whom he kissed on both cheeks. His expressive
face, framed in white whiskers, lit up with
a kindly smile. He tucked the Empress's arm
under his own, and, with an exquisite courtesy, addressed
a few gracious words to each of us individually.</p>
<p>During the Emperor's stay, the Empress
emerged for a little while from her state of timid
isolation. They walked or drove together and received
visits from the princes staying on the Côte
d'Azur or passing through, notably the Prince of
Wales, the Archduke Regnier, the Tsarevitch, the
Prince of Monaco, the King and Queen of Saxony
and the Grand-duke Michael. Sometimes, they
would call on the late Queen of England, at that
time installed at Cimiez, or on the Empress Eugénie,
their near neighbour. It was like a miniature
copy of the Court of Vienna, transferred to
Cap Martin.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p>
<p>Francis Joseph, faithful to his habits, rose at five
o'clock in the morning and worked with his secretaries.
At half-past six, he stopped to take a cup
of coffee and then closeted himself once more in
his study until ten. The wires were kept working
almost incessantly between Cap Martin and Vienna;
as many as eighty telegrams have been known
to be dispatched and received in the space of a
single morning. From ten to twelve, the Emperor
strolled in the gardens with the Empress.</p>
<p>Francis Joseph often had General Gebhardt, the
Governor of Nice, to dinner and generally took a
keen interest in military affairs. When he went to
Mentone to return the visit which President Faure
had paid him at Cap Martin, the French Government
sent a regiment of cuirassiers from Lyons to
salute him. The Emperor, struck by the men's
fine bearing, reviewed them and watched them
march past.</p>
<p>It also occurred to me, during his stay in the
south in the spring of 1896, to obtain an opportunity
for His Imperial Majesty to witness a sham
fight planned by the 87th battalion of Alpine
Chasseurs on the height of Roquebrune. The
manœuvres opened one morning at dawn in the
marvellous circle of hills covered with olive-trees
and topped by the snowy summits of the Alps.
For two hours, the Emperor followed the incidents<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
of the fight with close attention, not forgetting to
congratulate the officers warmly at the finish.</p>
<p>On the next day, he invited the officer in command
of the battalion, now General Baugillot, to
luncheon. The major was a gallant soldier, who
was more accustomed to the language of the camp
than to that of courts, and he persisted in addressing
the Emperor as "Sire" and "Monsieur" by
turns. Francis Joseph smiled, with great amusement.
At last, not knowing what to do, the major
cried:</p>
<p>"I beg everybody's pardon! I am more used to
mess-rooms than drawing-rooms!"</p>
<p>The Emperor at once replied:</p>
<p>"Call me whatever you please. I much prefer
a soldier to a courtier."</p>
<p>Cap Martin and Aix were not the only places
visited by the Empress of Austria. In the autumn
of 1896 she was anxious to see Biarritz; she returned
there in the following year and I again had
the honour of accompanying her. The inclemency
of the weather shortened the stay which she had
at first intended to make; and yet the rough and
picturesque poetry of the Basque coast had an undoubted
attraction for her. She spent her days,
sometimes, on the steepest points of the rocks, from
which she would watch the tide for hours, often returning
soaked through with spray; at other times,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
she would roam about the wild country that
stretches to the foot of the Pyrenees, talking to
the Basque peasants and interesting herself in their
work.</p>
<p>She had a mania for buying a cow in every district
which she visited for the first time. She chose
it herself in the course of her walks and had it sent
to one of her farms in Hungary. As soon as she
saw a cow the colour of whose coat pleased her,
she would accost the peasant, ask the animal's price
and tell him to take it to her hotel.</p>
<p>One day, near Biarritz, she saw a magnificent
black cow, bought it then and there, gave her name
of Countess Hohenembs to its owner and sent him
to the hotel with her purchase. When he arrived,
however, and asked for Countess Hohenembs, the
porter, who had not been prepared, took him for a
madman and tried to send him away. The peasant
insisted, explained what had happened and ended
by learning that Countess Hohenembs was no other
than the Empress of Austria. An empress? But
then he had been cheated! And he began to
lament and shout and protest and lose his temper:</p>
<p>"If I had known it was a queen," he yelled, "I'd
have asked more money! I must have a bigger
price!"</p>
<p>The discussion lasted for two hours and I had
to be called to put a stop to it.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p>
<p>This was not the only amusing adventure that
occurred during the Empress's stay at Biarritz.
One day, returning from an excursion to Fuentarabia,
she stood waiting for a train on the platform
of the little frontier station at Hendaye.
The reader, who was with her, had gone to ask a
question of the station-master. The conversation
seemed never-ending and the train arrived. The
Empress, losing patience, called a porter:</p>
<p>"You see that gentleman in black?" she said.
"Go and tell him to hurry, or the train will leave
without us."</p>
<p>The porter ran up to the reader and exclaimed:</p>
<p>"Hurry up, or your wife will go without you!"</p>
<p>The Empress, who rarely laughed, was greatly
amused at this incident.</p>
<p>The strange form of neurasthenia from which
she suffered, instead of decreasing with time,
seemed to become more persistent and more painful
as the years went on; and it ended by gradually
impairing her health. Not that the Empress had
a definite illness—she simply felt an infinite lassitude,
a perpetual weariness, against which she tried
to struggle, with an uncommon display of energy,
by pursuing her active life in spite of it, her wandering
life and her long daily walks.</p>
<p>She hated medicine and believed that a sound
and simple plan of hygiene was far preferable to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
any number of doctors' prescriptions. One day,
however, seeing her more tired than usual, I begged
her permission to present her with a few bottles of
Vin Mariani, of the restorative virtues of which I
had had personal experience.</p>
<p>"If it gives you any satisfaction," she replied,
with a smile, "I accept. But you must let me, in
return, send you some of our famous Tokay, which
is also a restorative and, moreover, very pleasant
to take."</p>
<p>A little while after, Count von Wolkenstein-Trosburg
handed me, on behalf of the Empress, a
beautiful liqueur-case containing six little bottles
of Tokay; and I was talking of drinking it after
my meals, like an ordinary dessert-wine, when the
count said:</p>
<p>"Do you know that this is a very costly gift?
The wine comes direct from the Emperor's estates.
To give you an idea of what it is worth, I may tell
you that, recently, at a sale in Frankfort, six little
bottles fetched eleven thousand francs.... It
stands quite alone."</p>
<p>I at once ceased to treat it as a common Madeira.
The proprietor of the hotel, hearing of the present
which I had received, offered me five thousand
francs for the six bottles. I need hardly say that
I refused.... I have four bottles left and am
keeping them.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p>
<p>Towards the end of the same year, 1897, when
she was staying for the second time at Biarritz, the
Empress, feeling more restless and melancholy
than ever, resolved to make a cruise in the Mediterranean
on board her yacht <i>Miramar</i>. But she
wished first to spend a few days in Paris.</p>
<p>She had engaged a suite of rooms at an hotel in
the Rue Castiglione and naturally wanted to preserve
the strictest <i>incognito</i>. Still, it was known
that she was in Paris; and the protection with which
I surrounded her was even more rigorous than before.
She was out of doors from morning till evening,
went through the streets on foot to visit the
churches, monuments and museums and at four
o'clock called regularly at a dairy in the Rue de
Surène, where she was served with a glass of ass's
milk, her favourite beverage, after which she returned
to the hotel.</p>
<p>One day, however, we had a great alarm; at seven
o'clock she was not yet back. I anxiously sent to
her sisters, the Queen of Naples and the Countess
of Trani, to whom she occasionally paid surprise
visits. She was not there. To crown all, she had
succeeded in eluding the vigilance of the inspector
who was charged to follow her at a certain distance.
We had lost the Empress in the midst of Paris!
Picture our mortal anxiety!</p>
<p>I was about to set out myself in search of her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>
when suddenly we saw her very calmly appearing.</p>
<p>"I have been gazing at Notre Dame by moonlight,"
she said. "It was lovely. And I came
back on foot along the quays. I went among the
crowd and nobody took the least notice of me."</p>
<p>I remember that her Greek reader, at that time
Mr. Barker, and her secretary, Dr. Kromar, expressed
a wish to see something of the picturesque
and characteristic side of Paris; and I took them
one evening to the central markets. When we had
finished our visit, I invited them, in accordance with
the traditional habit, to come and have a plate of
<i>soupe à l'oignon</i> in one of the little common eating-houses
in the neighbourhood. Delighted with this
modest banquet, they described their outing to the
Empress next day and sang the praises of our
famous national broth, which she had never tasted.</p>
<p>"M. Paoli," she said enthusiastically, "I must
know what <i>soupe à l'oignon</i> is like. Mr. Barker has
given me a most tantalising description."</p>
<p>"Nothing is easier. I will tell the people of the
hotel to make you some."</p>
<p>"Never! They will send me up a carefully-prepared
soup which won't taste in the least like yours.
And I must have it served in the identical crockery.
I want all the local colour."</p>
<p>Here I must make a confession: as I had it at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
heart (it was a question of patriotism, nothing less)
that the Empress should not be disappointed, I
thought it more prudent to apply to the manager
of the hotel, who, kindly lending himself to my innocent
fraud, prepared the onion soup and sent to
the nearest bazaar for a plate and soup-tureen of
the "local colour" in which the imperial traveller
took so great an interest. The illusion was perfect.
The Empress thought the soup excellent and the
crockery delightfully picturesque; true, we had
chipped it about a little!</p>
<p>The Empress's only visit to Paris was a short
one. As I have said, she had decided that year to
air her melancholy on the blue waters of the Mediterranean.
The projected cruise embraced a number
of calls at different harbours along the Côte
d'Azur; and she asked me to accompany her.</p>
<p>We left Paris on the 30th of December for
Marseilles, where the imperial yacht lay waiting for
us, commanded by a very distinguished officer, Captain
Moritz Sacks von Bellenau; and we were at
sea, opposite the tragic Château d'If, on the 1st of
January of the year 1898, which was to prove so
tragic to Elizabeth of Austria. I offered her my
wishes for happiness and a long life. The Empress
seemed to me sadder and more thoughtful that
morning than usual:</p>
<p>"I wish you also," she said, "health and happiness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
for you and yours." And she added, with an
expression of infinite bitterness, "As for myself, I
have no confidence left in the future."</p>
<p>Had she already received a presentiment of what
the year held in store for her? Who can tell?</p>
<p>She gave us but little of her society during this
voyage. She spent her days on deck, and interested
herself in the silent activity, in the humble,
poetic life of the crew. The sailors entertained a
sort of veneration for her. They were constantly
feeling the effects of her discreet and delicate kindness.
Like ourselves, they respected her melancholy
and her love of solitude. And, in the evenings,
while the little court collected in the saloon
and amused themselves with different games, or
else improvised a charming concert; while, at the
other end of the ship, the sailors, seated under the
poop, sang their Tyrolean or Hungarian songs to
an accordion accompaniment, the Empress, all
alone on deck, with her eyes staring into the distance,
would dream of the stars.</p>
<p>After leaving Marseilles, we went to Villafranca,
near Nice, skirting the coast. The Empress
also wished to stop at Cannes and to see
once more, from the sea, Monaco, Cap Martin and
Mentone. She next proposed to revisit Sicily,
Greece, and Corfu: it was as though she felt a
secret desire to make a sort of pilgrimage to all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
ephemeral landmarks which her sad soul had visited
in the course of her wandering life.</p>
<p>However enjoyable this cruise might be to me,
I had to think of abandoning it. My service with
the Empress ended automatically as soon as she
had left French waters.</p>
<p>"Stay on, nevertheless," she said kindly. "You
shall be my guest; and I will show you my beautiful
palace in Corfu."</p>
<p>But my duties, unfortunately, summoned me
elsewhere. I had to return to Nice, to receive the
King and Queen of Saxony, who were expected
there. It was decided, therefore, that I should
leave the <i>Miramar</i> at San Remo. When the yacht
dropped her anchor outside the little Italian town,
I said good-bye to the Empress and my charming
travelling-companions.</p>
<p>"It will not be for long, for I shall come back to
France," said Elizabeth.</p>
<p>She leant over the bulwarks, as the yacht's
launch took me on shore, and I watched her delicate
and careworn features, first outlined against the
disc of the setting sun and then merging, little by
little, in the distance and the darkness.</p>
<h3 class="p2">4.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">Seven months had elapsed since the day when I
left the Empress at San Remo. I was in Paris<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
and read in the papers that she had just arrived at
Caux, a picturesque little place situated above
Montreux, overlooking the Lake of Geneva. I
hastened to write, on chance, to Mr. Barker, her
Greek reader, in order to receive news of her.
When I came home, on the evening of the 9th of
September, I was handed Mr. Barker's reply, in
which was conveyed news of the Empress's plans,
and a gracious invitation from her to visit her,
should I happen to be in the neighbourhood of
Geneva.</p>
<p>As I was on leave and had nothing to keep me
in Paris, I at once made up my mind and, the next
morning, took the train for Geneva. I calculated
that, arriving in the evening, I had a chance of still
finding the Empress at the Hôtel Beau Rivage;
besides, nothing need prevent me from going the
next morning to Caux, where I was sure to see her,
and, at the same time, to be able to shake hands
with General Berzeviczy and Mr. Barker. Who
would have thought that the train which carried me
through the green fields of Burgundy and Franche-Comté
was taking me straight to the scene of a sad
and blood-stained tragedy?</p>
<p class="b1">When we drew into the station at Geneva, I
noticed an unwonted animation on the platforms;
groups of people stood about in excited discussion,
with a look of consternation on their faces. I paid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
no particular attention, however, for I was in a
hurry. I hailed a fly and told the man to drive to
the Hôtel Beau Rivage. We had not gone twenty
yards when he turned round on his box:</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-053.jpg" width="400" height="366"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">THE EMPEROR AND EMPRESS OF AUSTRIA</p>
</div></div>
<p class="p1">"What an awful crime!" he said.</p>
<p>"What crime?"</p>
<p>"Haven't you heard? The Empress was murdered
this afternoon."</p>
<p>"Murdered!"</p>
<p>Livid and scared, I could hardly listen to the
pitiful story of the tragedy. The Empress, it
seemed, had been stabbed to the heart by an Italian
anarchist when about to embark on the 1:40
steamer for Territet; she sank down on the Quai
du Mont Blanc. The people around her thought
that she had fainted, and carried her on board the
boat; when they bent over her, she was dead.</p>
<p>I sprang quickly from the carriage, when it
pulled up at the hotel, rushed into the hall, which
was full of people, flew up the crowded staircase
and along a corridor in which English, German
and Russian travellers were hustling one another,
with scared faces, all anxious to see. At last,
catching sight of a servant:</p>
<p>"Countess Sztaray?" I asked.</p>
<p>"In there," he replied, pointing to a door standing
ajar.</p>
<p>I knocked, the door was opened and Countess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
Sztaray, red-eyed, her features distorted with grief,
gave me a heart-broken look and, with a sob, said:</p>
<p>"Our poor Empress!"</p>
<p>"Where is she?"</p>
<p>"Come with me."</p>
<p>Taking me by the hand, she led me and General
Berzeviczy, who had also just arrived, to the next
room. There lay the Empress, stiff and already
cold, stretched on a little brass bed under a thin,
white gauze veil. Her face, lit up by the flickering
flame of two tall candles, showed no trace of suffering.
A sad smile still seemed to hover over her
pale and lightly-parted lips; two long tresses fell
upon her slim shoulders; the delicate features of
her face had shrunk; two purple shadows under her
eyelids threw into relief the sharp outline of her
nose and the pallor of her cheeks.</p>
<p>She appeared as though sleeping peacefully and
happily. Her tiny hands were crossed over an
ivory crucifix; some roses, already almost withered—roses
which she had gathered that morning and
which she was carrying in her arms when she received
her death-blow—lay scattered at her feet.</p>
<p>I stood long contemplating the corpse. My self-possession
deserted me. In spite of myself, the
tears came to my eyes, and I cried like a child.</p>
<table id="t01" summary="t01">
<tr>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p>
<p>Why had fate decreed that the Empress should
go to Geneva? Curiously enough, the idea came to
her suddenly, it appeared, on Thursday, the 8th of
September. She had arranged to pay a visit to
her friend, Baronne Adolphe de Rothschild, who
was staying at her country house, the Château de
Pregny, at the western end of the lake. But it was
a long excursion to make in a single day; and the
Empress, contrary to the advice of Countess
Sztaray, decided to sleep at Geneva, after leaving
Pregny, and not to return to Caux until the following
afternoon. She arrived at the Hôtel Beau
Rivage in the evening and went out after dinner.
She was up the next day at five o'clock. After
filling a portion of her morning with the complicated
cares of her toilet and her correspondence,
she went for a walk along the shady quays of the
Rhone. Returning to the hotel at one o'clock, she
hurriedly drank a glass of milk. Then, accompanied
by her lady-in-waiting, Countess Sztaray,
she hastened down to the steamboat pier, intending
to take the Territet boat that started at 1:40. She
had come to within two hundred yards of the footplank
connecting the steamer with the Quai du
Mont Blanc, when Lucchini flung himself upon
her and struck her a blow under the left breast with
a three-cornered file clumsily fitted to a wooden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
handle. The violence of the blow broke her fourth
rib.</p>
<p>Death was not instantaneous. She had the
strength to walk as far as the boat and for this
reason: the instrument, in its course, had pierced
the left ventricle of the heart from top to bottom.
But, the blade being very sharp and very thin, the
hemorrhage at first was almost insignificant.
The drops of blood escaped very slowly from the
heart; and its action was not impaired so long as
the pericardium, in which the drops were collecting,
was not full. This was how she was able to go a
fairly long distance on foot with a stab in her heart.
When the bleeding increased, the Empress sank to
the deck.</p>
<p>The poor Empress, therefore, had the energy to
drag herself to the boat, where a band of gipsies
was playing Hungarian dances (a cruel irony of
chance), while the steamer began to move away
from the landing-stage. At that moment, she
fainted. Countess Sztaray, who believed her to be
stunned by a blow of the fist—for no one had seen
the weapon in the assassin's hand—tried to bring
her to with smelling-salts. The Empress, in fact,
recovered consciousness, spoke a few words, cast a
long look of bewildered astonishment around her
and then, suddenly, fell back dead. The dismay
and excitement were intense. The boat at once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
put back to the pier; and, as there was no litter at
hand, the body was carried to the hotel, shrouded
in sails, on an improvised bier of crossed oars.</p>
<p>Had the Empress received a presentiment of
her tragic end, which a gipsy at Wiesbaden, and a
fortune-teller at Corfu had foretold her in the past?
Two strange incidents incline one to think so. On
the eve of her departure for Geneva, she asked Mr.
Barker to read her a few chapters of a book by
Marion Crawford, entitled "Corleone," in which
the author describes the abominable customs of the
Sicilian Mafia. While the Empress was listening
to this harrowing story, a raven, attracted by the
scent of some fruit which she was eating, came and
circled round her. Greatly impressed, she tried to
drive it off, but in vain, for it constantly returned,
filling the echoes with its mournful croaking.
Then she swiftly walked away, for she knew that
ravens are harbingers of death when their ill-omened
wings persist in flapping around a living
person.</p>
<p>Again, Countess Sztaray told me that, on the
morning of that day, she went into the Empress's
room, as usual, to ask how she had slept, and found
her imperial mistress looking pale and sad.</p>
<p>"I have had a strange experience," said Elizabeth.
"I was awakened in the middle of the night
by the bright moonbeams which filled my room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
for the servants had forgotten to draw the blinds.
I could see the moon from my bed; and it seemed
to have the face of a woman weeping. I don't
know if it is a presentiment, but I have an idea that
I shall meet with misfortune."</p>
<p>During the three days that preceded the departure
of the remains for Vienna, I stayed at Geneva
and shared the funeral watches with the little court,
once so happy and now so pitifully robbed of its
mistress. General Berzeviczy, Countess Sztaray
and I sat for long hours conjuring up the memory
of her who was now sleeping her last sleep beside
us. Countless anecdotes were told, countless tiny
and charming details. It already seemed almost
a distant past which we were recalling for the
last time, a bright and exquisite past which the
gracious Empress was taking away with her.</p>
<p>I went to see the murderer in his cell. I found
a perfectly lucid being, boasting of his crime as of
an act of heroism. When I asked him what
motive had driven him to choose for his victim a
woman, a sovereign living as far removed as possible
from politics and the throne, one who had always
shown so much compassion for the humble
and the destitute:</p>
<p>"I struck at the first crowned head," he said,
"that came along. I don't care. I wanted to
make a manifestation and I have succeeded."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p>
<p>The unhappy Empress's destiny was to be
strange and romantic until the end, until after her
death. Her body, carried to an hotel bed-room, departed
for Austria without pomp or display, amid
an immense and silent crowd. The Swiss Government
had not the necessary time to levy a regiment
to show her the last honours.</p>
<p>But it was better so, for she had, as her escort,
a respectfully contemplative nation and, as her salute,
the bells of all the towns and all the villages
through which the funeral train passed. And this,
I am certain, was just the simple and poetic homage
which her heart would have desired.</p>
<table id="t02" summary="t02">
<tr>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
<td class="tdc"><span class="xlarge">·</span></td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>A few days after the tragedy, the Emperor
Francis Joseph deigned to remember my respectful
attachment to the consort whom he had loved so
well; and I received the following telegram:</p>
<p class="pq30 p1"><span class="smcap">Wienburg</span>, September 15th, 1898.</p>
<p class="pqn"><i>To Monsieur Paoli, Ministry of the Interior, Paris,</i>—</p>
<p class="pq">His Majesty the Emperor, greatly touched by your sincere
sympathy, remembers gratefully the devoted care
which you showed the late Empress and thanks you again
with all his heart.</p>
<p class="pq60"><span class="smcap">Paar.</span></p>
<p class="pqn"><i>Principal Aide-de-camp to H. M. the Emperor of Austria.</i></p>
<p class="p1">I also received from the archduchesses, the
daughters, a hunting-knife which their mother, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
poor Empress, valued most particularly. I keep
it religiously in my little museum. Sometimes I
take it out and look at it; and it invariably summons
up one of the most touching memories of my
life.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a><br /><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a><br /><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">II</h2>
<p class="pn center p2 large">KING ALFONSO XIII</p>
<h3 class="p2">1.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">"You wanted me to complete your collection,
didn't you, M. Paoli?"</p>
<p>The presidential train had left Hendaye;
the distant echoes of the Spanish national
anthem still reached our ears through the silence
and the darkness. Leaning from the window of
the sleeping-car, I was watching the last lights of
the little frontier-town disappear one by one.</p>
<p>I turned round briskly at the sound of that gay
and bright voice. A tall, slim young man stood at
the door of the compartment, with a cigarette between
his lips and a soft felt hat on his head, and
gave me a friendly little wave of the hand. His
long, slender figure looked very smart and supple
in a pale-grey travelling-suit; and a broad smile
lit up his bronzed face, his smooth, boyish face,
adorned with a large Bourbon hooked nose, planted
like an eagle's beak between two very black eyes,
full of fire and humour.</p>
<p>"Yes, yes, M. Paoli, I know you, though perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
you don't yet know me. My mother has
often spoken to me of you and, when she heard
that you had been appointed to watch over my
safety, she said, 'With Paoli, I feel quite at ease.'"</p>
<p>"I am infinitely touched and flattered, Sir," I
replied, "by that gracious mark of confidence.
It is true that my collection was incomplete without
your Majesty."</p>
<p>That is how I became acquainted with H. M.
Alfonso XIII, in the spring of 1905, at the time
of his first official visit to France. "The little
king", as he was still called, had lately completed
his nineteenth year. He had attained his majority
a bare twelve-month before and was just entering
upon his career as a monarch, if I may so express
myself. The watchful eyes of Europe were beginning
to observe with sympathetic interest the first
actions of this young ruler who, with the exuberant
grace of his fine and trusting youth, brought an
unexpected and amusing contrast into the somewhat
constrained formality of the gallery of
sovereigns. Though he had no history as yet,
plenty of anecdotes were already current about him
and a plenty of morals were drawn in consequence:</p>
<p>"He has a nature all impulse," said one.</p>
<p>"He is full of character," said people who had
met him.</p>
<p>"He is like his father: he would charm the bird<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>
from the tree," an old Spanish diplomatist remarked
to me.</p>
<p>"At any rate, there is nothing commonplace
about him," thought I, still perplexed by the unconventional,
amusing, jocular way in which he had
interrupted my nocturnal contemplations.</p>
<p>No, he was certainly not commonplace! The
next morning, I saw him at early dawn at the windows
of the saloon-carriage, devouring with a delighted
curiosity the sights that met his eyes as
the train rushed at full speed through the verdant
plains of the Charente. Nothing escaped his youthful
enthusiasm: fields, forests, rivers, things, people.
Everything gave rise to sparkling exclamations:</p>
<p>"What a lovely country yours is, M. Paoli!" he
cried, when he saw me standing near him. "I feel
as if I were still at home, as if I knew everybody:
the faces all seem familiar. It's 'stunning'!"</p>
<p>At the sound of this typically Parisian expression
(the French word which he employed was
<i>épatant</i>) proceeding from the royal lips, it was my
turn to be "stunned." In my innocence, I was not
yet aware that he knew all our smart slang phrases
and used them freely.</p>
<p>His spirits were as inexhaustible as his bodily activity;
and, upon my word, we were hard put to it
to keep up with him. Now running from one window
to another, so as to "miss nothing," as he said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
with a laugh; now leaning over the back of a chair
or swinging his legs from a table; now striding up
and down the carriage, with his hands in his pockets
and the everlasting cigarette between his lips, he
questioned us without ceasing. He wanted to
know everything, though he knew a great deal as it
was. The army and navy excited his interest in
the highest degree; the provinces through which we
were passing, their customs, their past, their administrative
organisation, their industries supplied
him with the subjects of an exhaustive interrogatory,
to which we did our best to reply. Our social
laws, our parliament, our politicians as eagerly
aroused his lively curiosity, and then came the
turn of Paris which he was at last about to see,
whose splendours and peculiarities he already knew
from reading and hearsay, that Paris which he
looked upon as a fairyland, a promised land; and
the thought that he was to be solemnly welcomed
there sent a slight flush of excitement to his cheeks.</p>
<p>"It must be wonderful!" he said, his eyes ablaze
with pleasurable impatience.</p>
<p>He also insisted upon our giving him full details
about the persons who were to receive him:</p>
<p>"What is M. Loubet like? And the prime
minister? And the governor of Paris?"</p>
<p>When he was not putting questions, he was telling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
stories, recalling his impressions of his recent
journeys in Spain.</p>
<p>"Confess, M. Paoli," he said, "that you have never
had to look after a king as young as I."</p>
<p>His conversation, jesting and serious by turns,
studded with judicious reflexions, with smart sallies,
with freakish outbursts and unexpected digressions,
revealed a young and keen intelligence, eager
after knowledge, a fresh mind open to effusive ideas,
a quivering imagination, counterbalanced, however,
by a reflective brain. I remember the astonishment
of the French officers who had come to meet him
at the frontier, on hearing him discuss matters of
military strategy with the authority and the expert
wisdom of an old tactician; I remember also the
surprise of a high official who had joined the train
midway and to whose explanations the King was
lending an attentive ear when we crossed a bridge
over the Loire, in which some water-fowl happened
to be disporting themselves.</p>
<p>"Oh, what a pity!" the King broke in. "Why
haven't I a gun?" And, taking aim with an imaginary
fowling-piece, "What a fine shot!"</p>
<p>Again, I remember the spontaneous and charming
way in which, full of admiration for the beauties
of our Touraine, he tapped me on the shoulder and
cried:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>
<p>"There's no doubt about it, I love France!
France forever!"</p>
<p class="b1">What was not my surprise, afterwards, at
Orleans, where the first official stop was made, to see
him appear in his full uniform as captain-general,
his features wearing an air of singular dignity, his
gait proud and lofty, compelling in all of us a respect
for the impressive authority that emanated
from his whole person! He found the right word
for everybody, was careful of the least shades of
etiquette, moved, talked and smiled amid the gold-laced
uniforms with a sovereign ease, showing from
the first that he knew better than anybody how to
play his part as a king.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-072.jpg" width="400" height="229"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">THE KING OF SPAIN, PRINCESS HENRY OF BATTENBERG, PRINCESS VICTORIA EUGENIA AND M. PAOLI</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">There is one action, very simple in appearance,
but in reality more difficult than one would think,
by which we can judge a sovereign's bearing in a
foreign country. This is his manner of saluting the
colours. Some, as they pass before the standard
surrounded by its guard of honour, content themselves
with raising their hand to their cap or helmet;
others stop and bow; others, lastly, make a wide and
studied gesture which betrays a certain, almost theatrical
affectation. Alfonso XIII's salute is like
none of these: in its military stiffness, it is at once
simple and grave, marked by supreme elegance and
profound deference. On the platform of the Orleans
railway-station, opposite the motionless battalion,
in the presence of a number of officers and
civil functionaries, this salute which so visibly paid
a delicate homage to the army and the country, the
graceful and respectful salute moved and flattered
us more than any number of boasts and speeches.
And, when, at last, I went home, after witnessing
the young King's arrival in the capital and noticing
the impression which he had made on the government
and the people, I recalled the old Spanish
diplomatist's remark:</p>
<p>"The King would charm the bird from the tree!"</p>
<h3 class="p2">2.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">I saw little of King Alfonso during his first stay
in Paris. The protection of sovereigns who are the
official guests of the government did not come within
the scope of my duties. I therefore left him at the
station and was not to resume my place in his suite
until the moment of his departure. The anarchist
revolutionary gentry appeared to be unaware of this
detail, for I daily received a fair number of anonymous
letters, most of which contained more or less
vague threats against the person of our royal visitor.
One of them, which the post brought me as I was
on the point of proceeding to the gala performance
given at the Opera in his honour, struck me more
particularly because of the plainness of the warning
which it conveyed, a warning devoid of any of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
the insults that usually accompany this sort of communication:</p>
<p>"In spite of all the precautions that have been
taken," it read, "the King had better be careful
when he leaves the Opera to-night."</p>
<p>This note, written in a rough, disguised hand,
was, of course, unsigned. I at once passed it on to
the right quarter. The very strict supervision that
was being exercised no doubt excluded the possibility
of a successful plot. But there remained the
danger of an individual attempt, the murderous act
of a single person: and I knew by experience that,
to protect one's self against that, one must rely
exclusively upon "the police of Heaven," to use the
picturesque expression of Señor Maura, the
Spanish premier.</p>
<p>Haunted by a baneful presentiment, I nevertheless
decided on leaving the Opera, to remain near
the King's carriage (as a mere passer-by, of course)
until he had stepped into it with M. Loubet and
driven off, surrounded by his squadron of cavalry.
The attempt on his life took place at the corner of
the Rue de Rohan and the Rue de Rivoli; and both
the King and M. Loubet enjoyed a miraculous escape
from death. My presentiment, therefore, had
not been at fault.</p>
<p>I need not here recall the coolness which the
young monarch displayed in these circumstances,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
for it is still present in every memory, nor the
magnificent indifference with which he looked upon
the tragic incident:</p>
<p>"I have received my baptism of fire," he said to
me, a couple of days later, "and, upon my word,
it was much less exciting than I expected!"</p>
<p>Alfonso XIII, in fact, has a fine contempt for
danger. Like the late King Humbert, he considers
that assassination is one of the little drawbacks
attendant on the trade of king. He gave
a splendid proof of this courage at the time of the
Madrid bomb, of which I shall speak later; and I
was able to see it for myself two days after the attempted
assassination in the Rue de Rohan.</p>
<p>On leaving Paris, our royal visitor went to Cherbourg,
where I accompanied him, to embark on
board the British royal yacht, which was to take
him to England. As we approached the town in
the early morning, the presidential train was
shunted on to the special line that leads direct to
the dockyard. Suddenly, while we were running
pretty fast, a short stop took place, producing a
violent shock in all the carriages. The reader can
imagine the excitement. The railway-officials, officers
and chamberlains of the court sprang out on
the permanent way and rushed to the royal saloon.</p>
<p>"Another attempt?" asked the King, calmly
smiling, as he put his head out of the window.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p>
<p>We all thought so at the first moment. Fortunately,
it was only a slight accident: the rear luggage-van
had left the rails through a mistake in
the shunting. I hastened to explain the matter to
the King.</p>
<p>"You'll see," he at once replied, "they will say,
all the same, that it was an attempt on my life: I
must let my mother know quickly, or she will be
frightened."</p>
<p>The King was right. Someone, we never discovered
who, had already found means to telegraph
to Queen Maria Christina that a fresh attack had
been made on her son. There are always plenty
of bearers of ill-news, even where sovereigns are
concerned and especially when the news is false!</p>
<p>I took leave of the King at Cherbourg and joined
him, the week after, at Calais, whence I was to accompany
him to the Spanish frontier, for he was
returning direct to his own country. This time,
the official journey was over; and I once more
found the pleasant, simple young man, in the pale-grey
suit and the soft hat. The warm welcome
which he had received in England had not wiped
out his enthusiastic recollection of France.</p>
<p>"By George," he declared, "how glad I am to
see this beautiful country again, even through the
windows of the railway-carriage!"</p>
<p>A violent shower set in as we left Calais. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
train went along a line in process of repair and had
to travel very slowly. At that moment, seeing
some gangs of navvies working under the diluvial
downpour and soaked to the skin, the King leant
out of the window and, addressing them:</p>
<p>"Wait a bit!" he said. "I'm going to give you
something to smoke. This will warm you."</p>
<p>And the King, after emptying the contents of his
cigarette-case into their horny hands, took the boxes
of cigars and cigarettes that lay on the tables, one
after the other and passed them through the window,
first to the delighted labourers and then to
the soldiers drawn up on either side of the line.
They had never known such a windfall: it rained
Upmanns, Henry Clays and Turkish cigarettes.
When none were left, the King appealed to the
members of his suite, whom he laughingly plundered
for the benefit of these decent fellows. They,
not knowing his quality, shouted gaily:</p>
<p>"Thank you, sir, thank you! Come back soon!"</p>
<p>We had but one regret, that of remaining without
anything to smoke until we were able, at the
next stop, to replenish our provisions of tobacco
which had been exhausted in so diverting a fashion.</p>
<p>When, on the following morning, we reached
Hendaye, which is the frontier station between
France and Spain, a very comical incident occurred
that amused the young traveller greatly. By a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
purely fortuitous coincidence, they were waiting, as
we pulled up, for the train of King Carlos of
Portugal, who was also about to pay an official visit
to France; and the authorities and troops had collected
on the platform in order to show the usual
honours to their new guest. Our sudden arrival,
for which nobody was prepared, as Alfonso XIII
was not now travelling officially, utterly disconcerted
the resplendent crowd. Would the King of
Spain think that they were there on his account and
would he not be offended when he discovered his
mistake? It was a difficult position, but the prefect
rose to the occasion. As the King of Portugal's
train was not yet signalled, he gave orders to
pay the honours to King Alfonso XIII.</p>
<p>The moment, therefore, that our train stopped,
the authorities and general officers hurried in our
direction and the band of the regiment, which had
been practising the Portuguese royal anthem, briskly
struck up the Spanish anthem instead. But the
King, who knew what he was about, leant from the
window and chaffingly cried:</p>
<p>"Please, gentlemen, please! I know that you
are not here for me, but for my next-door neighbour!"</p>
<p>At Irun, the first Spanish station, where I was
to take leave of our guest, a fresh surprise awaited
us. There was not a trace of police-protection, not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
a soldier, not a gendarme. An immense crowd had
freely invaded both platforms. And what a crowd!
Thousands of men, women and children shouted,
sang, waved their hands, hustled one another and
fired guns into the air for joy, while the King, calm
and smiling elbowed his way from the presidential
to the royal train, patting the children's heads as he
passed, paying a compliment to their mothers, distributing
friendly nods to the men who were
noisily cheering him. And I thought of our democratic
country, in which we imprison the rulers of
States in an impenetrable circle of police-supervision,
whereas here, in a monarchical country,
labouring under a so-called reign of terror, the
sovereign walks about in the midst of strangers, unprotected
by any precautionary measures. It was
a striking contrast.</p>
<p>But my mission was at an end. Still laughing,
the King, as he gave me his hand, said:</p>
<p>"Well, M. Paoli, you can no longer say that you
haven't got me in your collection!"</p>
<p>"I beg your pardon, Sir," I replied. "It's not
complete yet."</p>
<p>"How do you mean?"</p>
<p>"Why, Sir, I haven't your portrait."</p>
<p>"Oh, that will be all right!" And, turning to
the grand master of his court, "Santo Mauro,
make a note: photo for M. Paoli."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p>
<p>A few days after, I received a photograph,
signed and dated by the royal hand.</p>
<p>Five months later, Alfonso XIII, returning
from Germany, where he had been to pay his accession-visit
to the Berlin Court, stopped to spend
a day incognito in Paris. I found him as I had
left him; gay, enthusiastic, full of good-nature,
glad to be alive.</p>
<p>"Here I am again, my dear M. Paoli," he said,
when he perceived me at the frontier, where,
according to custom, I had gone to meet him.
"But this time I shall not cause you any great
worry. I must go home and I sha'n't stop for
more than twenty-four hours—worse luck!—in
Paris."</p>
<p>On the other hand, he wasted none of his time
while there. Jumping into a motor-car the moment
he was out of the train, he first drove to the
Hôtel Bristol, where he remained just long enough
to change his clothes, after which he managed, during
his brief stay, to hear mass in the church of St.
Roch, for it was Sunday, to pay a visit to M.
Loubet, to make some purchases in the principal
shops, to lunch with his aunt, the Infanta Eulalie,
to take a motor-drive, in the pouring rain, as far as
Saint-Germain and back, to dine at the Spanish
Embassy and to wind up the evening at the
Théâtre des Variétés.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p>
<p>"And it's like that every day, when he's travelling,"
said one of his suite to me.</p>
<p>The King, I may say, makes up for this daily expenditure
of activity with a tremendous appetite. I
have observed, for that matter, that the majority of
sovereigns are valiant trenchermen. Every morning
of his life, Alfonso XIII has a good rumpsteak
and potatoes for his first breakfast, often preceded
by eggs and sometimes followed by salad
and fruit. The King, on the other hand, never
drinks wine and generally confines himself to a
tumbler of water and <i>zucharillos</i>, the national
beverage, composed of white of egg beaten up with
sugar.</p>
<p>In spite of his continual need of movement, his
passionate love of sport in all its forms and especially
of motoring, his expansive, rather mad, but
very attractive youthfulness, Alfonso XIII, even
in his flying trips, never, as we have seen, loses the
occasion of improving his mind. He is very quick
at seizing a point, possesses a remarkable power of
assimilation and, although he does not read much,
for he has no patience, he is remarkably well-informed
as regards the smallest details that interest
him. One day, for instance, he asked me, point-blank:</p>
<p>"Do you know how many gendarmes there are
in France?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p>
<p>I confess that I was greatly puzzled what to reply,
for I have never cared much about statistics.
I, therefore, ventured, on the off-chance, to say:</p>
<p>"Ten thousand."</p>
<p>"Ten thousand! Come, M. Paoli, what are you
thinking of? That's the number we have in Spain.
It's more like twenty thousand."</p>
<p>This figure, as I afterwards learnt, was strictly
accurate.</p>
<p>As for business of State, I also noticed that the
King devoted more time to it than his restless life
would lead one to believe. Rising winter and summer
at six o'clock, he stays indoors and works
regularly during the early portion of the morning
and often again at night. In this connexion, one
of his ministers said to me:</p>
<p>"He never shows a sign of either weariness or
boredom. The King's 'frivolity' is a popular fallacy.
On the contrary, he is terribly painstaking.
Just like the Queen Mother, he insists upon clear
and detailed explanations, before signing the least
document; and he knows quite well how to make his
will felt. Besides, he is fond of work and he can
work no matter where: in a motor-car, in a boat, in
the train, as well as in his study."</p>
<p>But it was especially on the occasion of the event
which was to mark an indelible date in his life, a
fair and happy date, that I had time to observe him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
and to come to know him better. The reader will
have guessed that I am referring to his engagement.
The duties which I fulfilled during a
quarter of a century have sometimes involved difficult
moments, delicate responsibilities, thankless
tasks, but they have also procured me many charming
compensations; and I have no more delightful
recollection than that of witnessing, at first hand,
the fresh and touching royal idyll, the simple, cloudless
romance, which began one fine evening in
London, was subsequently continued under the
sunny sky of the Basque coast and ended by leading
to one of those rare unions which satisfy the
exigencies both of public policy and of the heart.</p>
<p>Like his father before him, Alfonso XIII, when
his ministers began to hint discreetly about possible
"alliances," contented himself with replying:</p>
<p>"I shall marry a princess who takes my fancy and
nobody else. I want to love my wife."</p>
<p>Nevertheless, diplomatic intrigues fashioned
themselves around the young sovereign. The
Emperor William would have liked to see a
German princess sharing the throne of Spain; a
marriage with an Austrian archduchess would have
continued a time-honoured tradition; the question of
a French princess was also mooted, I believe.
But the political <i>rapprochement</i> between Spain
and England had just been accomplished under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
French auspices; an Anglo-Spanish marriage
seemed to correspond with the interests of Spain;
and it so happened that the Princess Patricia
of Connaught had lately been seen in Andalusia.
Her name was on all men's lips; already,
in the silence of the palace, official circles were preparing
for this union. Only one detail had been
omitted, but it was a detail of the first importance:
that of consulting the two persons directly interested,
who did not even know each other.</p>
<p>When the King went to England, no one
thought for a moment but that he would return engaged—and
engaged to Patricia of Connaught.
The diplomatists, however, had reckoned without a
factor, which, doubtless, was foreign to them, but
which was all-powerful in the eyes of Alfonso
XIII: the little factor known as love.</p>
<p>As a matter of fact, when the two young people
met, they did not attract each other. On the other
hand, at the ball given in the King's honour at
Buckingham Palace, Alfonso never took his eyes
off a young, fair-haired princess, whose radiant
beauty shed all the glory of spring around her.</p>
<p>"Who is that?" asked the King.</p>
<p>"Princess Ena of Battenberg," was the reply.</p>
<p>The two were presented, danced and talked together,
met again on the next day and on the following
days.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
<p>And, when the King returned to Spain, he left
his heart in England.</p>
<p>But he did not breathe a word about it. His
little idyll, which took the form of an interchange
of letters and postcards as well as of secret negotiations
with a view to marriage—negotiations
conducted with the English royal family by the
King in person—was pursued in the greatest
mystery. People knew, of course, that the princess
and the King liked and admired each other; but
they knew nothing of the young monarch's private
plans. Moreover, he took a pleasure in mystifying
his entourage. He who had once been so expansive
now became suddenly contemplative and
reserved.</p>
<p>Soon after his return, he ordered a yacht; and,
when the time came to christen her, he made the
builders paint on the prow in gold letters:</p>
<p class="pn center p1 mid">PRINCESS ...<br /></p>
<p class="p1">The comment aroused by these three little dots
may be easily imagined.</p>
<p>The moment, however, was at hand when the
name of the royal yacht's godmother and, therefore,
of the future Queen of Spain was to be revealed.
One morning in January, 1906, I received a letter
from Miss Minnie Cochrane, Princess Henry of
Battenberg's faithful lady-in-waiting, telling me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
that the princess and her daughter, Princess Ena,
were leaving shortly for Biarritz, to stay with their
cousin, the Princess Frederica of Hanover, and inviting
me to accompany them. This kind thought
is explained by the fact that I had known the princess
and her daughter for many years: I had often
had occasions to see Princess Beatrice with the late
Queen Victoria, to whom she showed the most tender
filial affection; I had also known Princess Ena
as a little girl, when she still wore short frocks and
long fair curls and used to play with her doll under
the fond, smiling gaze of her august grandmother.
She was then a grave and reflective child; she had
great, deep, expressive blue eyes; and she was a
little shy, like her mother.</p>
<p>When at Calais, I beheld a fresh and beautiful
young girl, unreserved and gay, a real fairy princess,
whose face, radiant with gladness, so evidently
reflected a very sweet, secret happiness; when, on
the day after her arrival at Biarritz, I unexpectedly
saw King Alfonso arrive in a great state of excitement
and surprised the first glance which they exchanged
at the door of the villa, then I understood.
I was, therefore, not in the least astonished when
Miss Cochrane, whom I had ventured to ask if it
was true that there was a matrimonial project on
foot between the King and the princess, answered,
with a significant smile:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p>
<p>"I think so; it is not officially settled yet; it will
be decided here."</p>
<h3 class="p2">3.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">The Villa Mouriscot, where the princesses were
staying, was a picturesque Basque chalet, elegantly
and comfortably furnished. Standing on a height,
at two miles from Biarritz, whence the eye commanded
the magnificent circle of hills, and buried
in the midst of luxuriant and fragrant gardens, intersected
by shady and silent walks, it formed an
appropriately poetic setting for the romance of the
royal betrothal.</p>
<p>The King came every day. Wrapped in a huge
cloak, with a motoring-cap and goggles, he would
arrive at ten o'clock in the morning from San Sebastian
in his double Panhard, which he drove
himself, except on the rare occasions when he entrusted
the steering-wheel to his excellent French
chauffeur, Antonin, who accompanied him on
all his excursions. His friends, the Marquis de
Viana, the young Conde de Villalobar, counsellor
to the Spanish Embassy in London, Señor
Quiñones de Leon, the charming attaché to the
Paris Embassy, the Conde del Grove, his faithful
aide-de-camp, or the Marquis de Pacheco, commanding
the palace halberdiers, formed his usual
suite. As soon as the motor had passed through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
the gates and stopped before the door, where Baron
von Pawel-Rammingen, the Princess Frederica's
husband, and Colonel Lord William Cecil, Princess
Henry of Battenberg's comptroller, awaited him,
the King hurried to the drawing-room, where the
pretty princess sat looking out for his arrival, as
impatient for the meeting as the King himself.</p>
<p class="b1">After the King had greeted his hosts at the villa,
he and the princess walked into the gardens and
exchanged much lively talk as they strolled about
the paths in which, as Gounod's song says, "lovers
lose their way." They returned in time for the
family lunch, a very simple repast to which the
King's tremendous appetite did full honour. He
used often to send for Fraülein Zinska, the Princess
Frederica's old Hanoverian cook, and congratulate
her on her culinary capacities, a proceeding
which threw the good woman into an ecstasy
of delight. After lunch, the young people, accompanied
by Miss Cochrane as chaperone, went out
in the motor, not returning until nearly dark. On
rainy days, of course, there was no drive; but in
the drawing-room of the villa the Princess Frederica
had thoughtfully contrived a sort of recess,
furnished with a sofa, in which the engaged couple
could pursue their discreet flirtation at their ease.
When they took refuge there, the young Prince<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
Alexander of Battenberg, who had joined his family
at Biarritz, used to tease them:</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-089.jpg" width="400" height="512"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">THE KING AND QUEEN OF SPAIN AND BABY</p>
</div></div>
<p class="p1">"Look out!" he would cry to anyone entering
the room. "Be careful! Don't disturb the lovers!"</p>
<p>In the evening, at dinner, the suite were present.
The King changed into evening-clothes, with the
collar of the Golden Fleece. At half-past ten, he
left for the station and returned to San Sebastian
by the Sud-Express.</p>
<p>After a few days, although they were not officially
engaged, no one doubted that the event was
near at hand.</p>
<p>"She's nice, isn't she?" the King asked me, point-blank.</p>
<p>A significant detail served to show me how far
things had gone. One day, the two young people,
accompanied by the Princesses Frederica and
Beatrice and the whole little court, walked to the
end of the grounds, to a spot near the lake, where
two holes had been newly dug. A gardener stood
waiting for them, carrying two miniature fir-plants
in his arms.</p>
<p>"This is mine," said the King.</p>
<p>"And this is mine," said the princess, in French,
for they constantly spoke French together.</p>
<p>"We must plant the trees side by side," declared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
the King, "so that they may always remind us of
these never-to-be-forgotten days."</p>
<p>No sooner said than done. In accordance with
the old English tradition, the two of them, each
laying hold of a spade, dug up the earth and heaped
it around the shrubs with shouts of laughter that
rang clear through the silent wood. Then, when
the King, who, in spite of his strength of arm, is
a poor gardener, perceived that the princess had
finished her task first:</p>
<p>"There is no doubt about it," he said, "I am
very awkward! I must put in a month or two with
the Engineers!"</p>
<p>On returning to the villa, he gave the princess
her first present: a heart set in brilliants. It was
certainly a day of symbols.</p>
<p>On the following day, things took a more definite
turn. The King came to fetch the princesses in
the morning to take them to San Sebastian, where
they met Queen Maria Christina. Nobody knew
what happened in the course of the interview and
the subsequent private luncheon at the Miramar
Palace. But it was, beyond a doubt, a decisive day.
At Fuentarabia, the first Spanish town through
which they passed on their way to San Sebastian in
the morning, the King said to the princess:</p>
<p>"You are now on Spanish soil."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p>
<p>"Oh," she said, "I am so glad!"</p>
<p>"It will soon be for good."</p>
<p>And they smiled to each other.</p>
<p>The frantic cheering that greeted her entry at
San Sebastian, the hail of flowers that fell at her
feet when she passed through the streets, the motherly
kiss with which she was received at the door
of Queen Maria Christina's drawing-room must
have given Princess Ena to understand that all
Spain had confirmed its sovereign's choice and applauded
his good taste.</p>
<p>Twenty-four hours after this visit, the Queen
Mother, in her turn, went to Biarritz and took tea
at the Villa Mouriscot. The King had gone on
before her. Intense happiness was reflected on
every face. When the Queen, who had very graciously
sent for me to thank me for the care which
I was taking of her son, stepped into her carriage,
she said to the princess, with a smile:</p>
<p>"We shall soon see you in Madrid."</p>
<p>Then, taking a white rose from the bouquet with
which the Mayor of Biarritz had presented her, she
gave it to the princess, who pressed it to her lips
before pinning it to her bodice.</p>
<p>That same evening, the King, beaming all over
his face, cried to me from a distance, the moment
he saw me:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>
<p>"It's all right, Paoli; the official demand has been
granted. You see before you the happiest of
men!"</p>
<p>He was indeed happy, so much so that his gaiety
infected everybody around him. Each of us felt
that he had some small part in this frank happiness,
in this touching romance; and we felt all its charm
as though our hearts were but twenty years old
again. The English themselves, forgetting that
their princess was about to marry a Catholic sovereign
and that she would have to forswear the
Protestant faith—an essential condition of the marriage—the
English, usually so strict in these matters,
greeted this love-match with enthusiasm. One
of the British ministers gave vent to a very pretty
phrase. Someone expressing surprise, in his presence,
at the acquiescence shown in this connexion
by King Edward's government:</p>
<p>"Mankind loves a lover," he replied. "Especially
in England."</p>
<p>The days that followed upon the betrothal were
days of enchantment for the young couple, now
freed from all preoccupation and constraint. One
met them daily, motoring along the picturesque
roads of the Basque country or walking through
the streets of Biarritz, stopping before the shopwindows,
at the photographer's or at the pastrycook's.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
<p>"Do you know, Paoli," said the King to me, one
day, "I've changed the princess's name. Instead
of calling her Ena, which I don't like, I call her
Nini. That's very Parisian, isn't it?"</p>
<p>The royal lover, as I have already said, prided
himself with justice on his Parisianism, as witness
the following scrap of dialogue, which took place
one morning in the street at Biarritz:</p>
<p>"M. Paoli."</p>
<p>"Sir?"</p>
<p>"Do you know the tune of the <i>Maschich</i>?"</p>
<p>"Upon my word, I can't say I do, Sir!"</p>
<p>"Or of <i>Viens, Poupoule</i>?"</p>
<p>"No, Sir."</p>
<p>"Why, then you know nothing. Paoli ...
you're a disgrace!"</p>
<p>Thereupon, half-opening the door of the confectioner's
shop where Princess Ena was making a
leisurely selection of cakes, he began to hum the
famous air of <i>Viens, Poupoule</i>!</p>
<p>It will readily be imagined that the protection
of the King was not always an easy matter. True,
it was understood that I should invariably be told
beforehand of the programme of the day; but the
plans would be changed an hour later; and, when
the young couple had once set out at random, nothing
was more difficult than to catch them up.</p>
<p>I remember one morning when the King informed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
me that he did not intend to go out that day.
I thereupon determined to give myself a few hours'
rest. I had returned to my hotel and was beginning
to enjoy the unaccustomed sense of repose
when the telephone bell rang:</p>
<p>"The King and the Princess have gone out," said
the voice of one of my detectives. "It's impossible
to find them."</p>
<p>Greatly alarmed, I was hurrying to the Villa
Mouriscot, when, at a bend in the road, I saw the
fugitives themselves before me, accompanied by the
Princess Beatrice.</p>
<p>"I say!" cried the King, in great glee. "We
gave your inspector the slip!"</p>
<p>And, as I was venturing to utter a discreet reproach:</p>
<p>"Don't be angry with us, M. Paoli," the princess
broke in, very prettily. "The King isn't frightened;
no more am I. Who would think of hurting
us?"</p>
<p>The great delight of Alfonso, who is very playfully
inclined, was to hoax people that did not know
who he was. One day, motoring into Cambo, the
delicious village near which M. Edmond Rostand's
property lies, he entered the post-office to send off
some postcards. Seeing the woman in charge of
the office taking the air outside the door:</p>
<p>"I beg your pardon, madame," he said, very politely.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
"Could you tell me if the King of Spain
is expected here to-day?"</p>
<p>"I don't know anything about it," said the little
post-mistress in an off-hand way.</p>
<p>"Don't you know him by sight?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Oh, really! They say he's very nice: not
exactly handsome, but quite charming, for all
that."</p>
<p>The good lady, of course, suspected nothing; but
when the King handed her his postcards, it goes
without saying that she at once read the superscriptions
and saw that they were addressed to the Queen
Mother at San Sebastian, to the Infanta Doña Paz,
to the Infanta Maria Theresa, to the prime minister.</p>
<p>"Why, it's the King himself!" she exclaimed,
quite overcome.</p>
<p>Alfonso XIII was already far on his road.</p>
<p>The most amusing adventure, however, was that
which he had at Dax. One morning, he took it
into his head to motor away to the parched and
desolate country of the Landes, which stretch from
Bayonne to Bordeaux. After a long and wearing
drive, he decided to take the train back from Dax.
Accompanied by his friend Señor Quiñones de
Leon, he made for the station, where the two young
men, tired out and soaked in perspiration, sat down
in the refreshment-room.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
<p>"Give us some lunch, please," said the King,
who was ravenously hungry, to the woman at the
bar.</p>
<p>The refreshment-room, unfortunately, was very
meagerly supplied. When the two travelling-companions
had eaten up the sorry fare represented by
a few eggs and sandwiches, which had probably
been waiting more than a month for a traveller to
arrive and take a fancy to them, the King, whose
appetite was far from being satisfied, called the
barmaid, a fat and matronly Béarnaise, with an
upper lip adorned with a pair of thick moustachios.</p>
<p>"Have you nothing else to give us?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I have a <i>pâté de foie gras</i>, but it's very expensive,"
said the decent creature, whose perspicacity
did not go to the length of seeing a serious customer
in this famished and dusty young man.</p>
<p>"Never mind, let's have it," said the King.</p>
<p>The woman brought her <i>pâté</i>, which was none
too fresh; but how great was her amazement when
she saw the two travellers devour not only the liver,
but the fat as well! The pot was emptied and
scraped clean in the twinkling of an eye.</p>
<p>Pleased with her successful morning's trade and
encouraged by the King's ebullient good-humour,
the barmaid sat down at the royal table, and began
to tell the King her family affairs and questioned
him with maternal solicitude. When, at last, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
hour of departure struck, they shook hands with
each other warmly.</p>
<p>Some time afterwards, the King was passing
through Dax by rail and, as the train steamed into
the station, said to me:</p>
<p>"I have an acquaintance at Dax. I'll show her
to you: she is charming."</p>
<p>The plump Béarnaise was there, more moustachioed
than ever. I will not attempt to describe
her comic bewilderment at recognising her former
customer in the person of the King. He was delighted
and, giving her his hand:</p>
<p>"You won't refuse to say How-do-you-do to me,
I hope?" he asked, laughing.</p>
<p>The thing turned her head; what was bound to
happen happened: she became indiscreet. From
that time onwards, she looked into every train that
stopped at Dax, to see if "her friend" the King
was among the passengers; and, when, instead of
stepping out on the platform, he satisfied himself
with giving her a friendly nod from behind the
pane, she felt immensely disappointed: in fact, she
was even a little offended.</p>
<p>The Cambo post-mistress and the Dax barmaid
are not the only people who boast of having been
taken in by Alfonso XIII. His turn for waggery
was sometimes vented upon grave and serious
men. Dr. Moure, of Bordeaux, who attended the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
young monarch when his nose was operated upon,
has a story to tell. He was sent for, one day,
to San Sebastian and was waiting for his illustrious
patient in a room at the Miramar Palace,
when the door opened quickly and there entered a
most respectable lady, dressed in silk flounces and
wearing a wig and spectacles. Not having the
honour of her acquaintance, he made a deep bow,
to which she replied with a stately courtesy.</p>
<p>"It must be the <i>camerera-major</i>," he thought to
himself. "She looks tremendously eighteenth-century."</p>
<p>But suddenly a great burst of laughter shook
the venerable dowager's frame from head to foot,
her spectacles fell from her nose, her wig dropped
likewise and a clarion voice cried:</p>
<p>"Good-morning, doctor! It's I!"</p>
<p>It was the King.</p>
<p>The chapter of anecdotes is inexhaustible. And
it is not difficult to picture how this playful simplicity,
combined with a delicacy of feeling and a
knightly grace to which, in our age of brutal realism,
we are no longer accustomed, made an utter
conquest of the pretty English princess. When,
after several days of familiar and daily intimacy,
it became necessary to say good-bye—the princess
was returning to England to busy herself with
preparations for her marriage, Alfonso to Madrid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>
for the same reason—when the moment of separation
had come, there was a pang at the heart on
both sides. And, as I was leaving with the princess
for Paris:</p>
<p>"You're a lucky man, M. Paoli, to be going with
the princess," said the King, sadly, as I was stepping
into the railway-carriage. "I'd give anything
to be in your place!"</p>
<p>While the Court of Spain was employed in settling,
down to the smallest particular, the ceremonial
for the King's approaching wedding, Princess
Ena was absorbed, at one and the same time,
in the charming details of her trousseau and in the
more austere preparations for her conversion to
Catholicism. This conversion, as I have already
said, was a <i>sine quâ non</i> to the consent of Spain to
her marriage.</p>
<p>The princess and her mother, accompanied by
Miss Cochrane and Lord William Cecil, went and
stayed in an hotel at Versailles for the period of
religious instruction which precedes the admission
of a neophyte within the pale of the Roman Catholic
Church; and it was at Versailles, on a cold
February morning, that she abjured her Protestantism
in a sequestered chapel of the cathedral.
Why did she select the town of Louis XIV in which
to accomplish this important and solemn act of her
life? Doubtless, because of the peaceful silence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
that surrounded it and of the past, filled with melancholy
grandeur, which it conjured up; perhaps,
also, because of the association of ideas suggested
to her mind by the city of the Great King and the
origins of the family of the Spanish Bourbons of
which it was the cradle. The heart of woman sometimes
provides instances of this delicacy of thought.</p>
<p>The last months of the winter of 1906 were spent
by the engaged pair in eager expectation of the
great event that was to unite them for good and all
and in the manifold occupations which it involved.
The date of the wedding was fixed for the 31st of
May. A few days before that I went to Calais
to meet the princess. It was as though nature, in
her charming vernal awakening, was smiling upon
the royal bride and had hastily decked herself in her
best to greet the young princess, as she passed, with
all her youthful gladness. But the princess saw
nothing: she had bidden a last farewell to her country,
her family and her home; and, despite the happiness
that called her, the fond memory of all that
she was quitting oppressed her heart.</p>
<p>"It is nothing, M. Paoli," she said, when I asked
the cause of her sadness, "it is nothing: I cannot
help feeling touched when I think that I am leaving
the country where I have spent so many happy days
to go towards the unknown."</p>
<p>She did not sleep that night. At three o'clock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
in the morning, she was up and dressed, ready to
appear before her future husband, before the nation
that was waiting to welcome her, while the
King, at the same hour, was striding up and down
the platform at Irun, in a fever of excitement,
peering into the night so as to be the first to see
the yellow gleams of the train and nervously lighting
cigarette upon cigarette to calm his impatience.</p>
<p>Then came the whirlwind of festivals at which
the King invited me to be present, the sumptuous
magnificence of the marriage-ceremony in the ancient
church of Los Geronimos. It was as though
the old Court of Spain had regained its pomp
of the days of long ago. Once more, the streets,
all dressed with flags, were filled with antiquated
chariots, with heraldic costumes, with glittering
uniforms; from the balconies draped with precious
stuffs, flowers fell in torrents; cheers rose
from the serried ranks of the crowd; an intense,
noisy, mad gaiety reigned in all men's eyes, on all
men's lips, while, from behind the windows of the
state-coach that carried her to the church, the surprised
and delighted princess, forgetting her fleeting
melancholy, now smiled her acknowledgments
of this mighty welcome.</p>
<p>A tragic incident was fated brutally to interrupt
her fair young dream. Finding no seat in the
church of Los Geronimos, the dimensions of which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
are quite small, I took refuge in one of the Court
stands erected along the route taken by the sovereigns;
and I was watching the procession pass
on its return to the palace, when my ears were suddenly
deafened by a tremendous explosion. At
first, no one realised where it came from. We
thought that it was the report of a cannon-shot fired
to announce the end of the ceremony. But suddenly
loud yells arose, people hustled one another
and rushed away madly, shouting:</p>
<p>"It's a murder! The King and Queen are
killed!"</p>
<p>Terrified, I tried to hasten to the street from
which the cries came. A file of soldiers, drawn up
across the roadway stopped me. I then ran to the
palace, where I arrived at exactly the same moment
as the royal coach, from which the King and the
young Queen alighted. They were pale, but calm.
The King held his wife's hand tenderly in his own
and stared in dismay at the long white train of her
bridal dress, stained with great blotches of blood.
Filled with horror, I went up to Alfonso XIII:</p>
<p>"Oh, Sir!" I cried, "at least both of you are safe
and sound!"</p>
<p>"Yes," he replied. Then, lowering his voice, he
added, "But there are some killed. Poor people!
What an infamous thing!"</p>
<p>Under her great white veil, the Queen, standing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
between Queen Maria Christina and Princess
Henry of Battenberg, still both trembling, wept
silent tears. Then the King, profoundly moved,
drew nearer to her and kissed her slowly on the
cheek, whispering these charming words:</p>
<p>"I do hope that you are not angry with me for
the emotion which I have involuntarily caused
you?"</p>
<p>What she replied I did not hear: I only saw a
kiss.</p>
<p>Notwithstanding the warm manifestations of
loyalty which the people of Spain lavished upon
their sovereigns on the following day, Queen Victoria
is said to have been long haunted by the
horrible spectacle which she had beheld and to have
retained an intense feeling of terror and sadness
from that tragic hour. But, God be praised,
everything passes. When, later, I had the honour
of again finding myself in attendance upon the
King and Queen at Biarritz and in Paris, I recognised
once more the happy and loving young couple
whom I had known at the time of their
engagement. Alfonso XIII had the same gaiety,
the same high spirits as before; and the Queen's
mind seemed to show no trace of painful memories
or gloomy apprehensions.</p>
<p>In the course of the first journey which I took
with them a year after the murderous attempt in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
Madrid, the King himself acquainted me with the
real cause of this happy quietude so promptly recovered.
Walking into the compartment where I
was sitting, he lifted high into the air a pink and
chubby child and, holding it up for me to look at,
said, with more than a touch of pride in his voice:</p>
<p>"There! What do you think of him? Isn't he splendid?"</p>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a><br /><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a><br /><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">III</h2>
<p class="pn center p2 large">THE SHAH OF PERSIA</p>
<h3 class="p2">1.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">Must I confess it? When I was told, a
few weeks before the opening of the International
Exhibition of 1900, that I
should have the honour of being attached to the
person of Muzaffr-ed-Din, King of Kings and
Shah of Persia, during the whole duration of the
official visit which he contemplated paying to Paris,
I did not welcome the news with the alacrity which
it ought doubtless to have evoked.</p>
<p>And yet I had no reason for any prejudice
against this monarch: I did not even know him.
My apprehensions were grounded on more remote
causes: I recalled the memories which a former
Shah, his predecessor, had left among us. Nasr-ed-Din
was a strange and capricious sovereign,
who had never succeeded in making up his mind,
when he came to Europe, to leave on the further
shore, so to speak, the manners and customs of
his country or to lay aside the troublesome fancies
in which his reckless despotism loved to indulge.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
Was it not related of him that, while staying in
the country, in France, he caused a sheep or two
to be sacrificed every morning in his bed-room,
in order to ensure the Prophet's clemency until the
evening? And that he had the amiable habit of
buying anything that took his fancy, but neglecting
to pay the bill?</p>
<p>Lastly, this very delicious story was told about
him. The Shah had asked whether he could not,
by way of amusement, be present at an execution
of capital punishment during one of his stays in
Paris. It so happened that the occasion offered.
He was invited to go one morning to the Place de
la Roquette, where the scaffold had been erected.
He arrived with his diamonds and his suite; but,
the moment he saw the condemned man, his generous
heart was filled with a sudden tenderness for
the murderer:</p>
<p>"Not that one. The other!" he ordered, pointing
to the public prosecutor, who was presiding over
the ceremony.</p>
<p>Picture the magistrate's face, while the Shah insisted
and thought it discourteous of them not at
once to yield to his wishes.</p>
<p>I therefore asked myself with a certain dismay
what unpleasant surprises his successor might have
in store for me. He seemed to me to come from
the depths of a very old and mysterious form of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
humanity, travelling from his capital to the shores of
Europe, slowly, by easy stages, as in the mediæval
times, across deserts and mountains and blue-domed
dead cities, escorted by a fabulous baggage-train
of rare stuffs, of praying-carpets, of marvellous
jewels, an army of turbaned horsemen, a
swarm of officials, a harem of dancing-girls and a
long file of camels.</p>
<p>I asked myself if I too would be obliged to assist
at sacrifices of heifers and to console unpaid
tradesmen, all to be finally pointed out by His Majesty
as a "substitute" under the knife of the guillotine.</p>
<p>However, I was needlessly alarmed: in Persia,
thank goodness, the Shahs succeed, but do not resemble
one another. I became fully aware of this
when I was admitted into the intimacy of our new
guest. Muzaffr-ed-Din had nothing in common
with his father. He was an overgrown child, whose
massive stature, great bushy moustache, very kind,
round eyes, prominent stomach and general adiposity
formed a contrast with his backward mental
condition and his sleepy intelligence. He had, in
fact, the brain of a twelve-year-old schoolboy, together
with a schoolboy's easy astonishment, candour
and curiosity. He busied himself exclusively
with small things, the only things that excited and
interested him. He was gentle, good-natured, an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
arrant coward, generous at times and extremely
capricious, but his whims never went so far as to
take pleasure in the suffering of others. He loved
life, was enormously attached to it, in fact; and he
liked me too with a real affection, which was spontaneous
and, at times, touching:</p>
<p>"Paoli, worthy Paoli," he said to me one day, in
an expansive mood, fixing his round pupils upon
me, "you ... my good, my dear domestic!"</p>
<p>When I appeared surprised and even a little offended
at the place which he was allotting me in
the social scale:</p>
<p>"His Majesty means to say," explained the
grand vizier, "that he looks upon you as belonging
to the family. 'Domestic' in his mind means a
friend of the house, according to the true etymology
of the word, which is derived from the Latin
<i>domus</i>...."</p>
<p>The intention was pretty enough; I asked no
more, remembering that Muzaffr-ed-Din spoke
French with difficulty and employed a sort of negro
chatter to express his thoughts.</p>
<h3 class="p2">2.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">At the time of his first stay in Paris, he had the
privilege of inaugurating the famous Sovereigns'
Palace, which the government had fitted up in the
Avenue du Bois de Boulogne for the entertainment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
of its royal visitors. The house was a comparatively
small one; on the other hand, it was sumptuously
decorated. The national furniture-repository
had sent some of the finest pieces to be found
in its historic store-rooms. In fact, I believe that
the Shah slept in the bed of Napoleon I and
washed his hands and face in the Empress Marie-Louise's
basin; things that interested him but little.
Great memories were a matter of indifference
to him; he infinitely preferred futile realities in the
form of useless objects, whose glitter pleased his
eye, and of more or less harmonious sounds, whose
vibrations tickled his ears.</p>
<p>His tastes were proved on the day of his arrival
by two quick decisions: he ordered to be packed up
for Teheran the grand piano which adorned his
drawing-room and the motor-car which awaited his
good pleasure outside, after hearing the one, trying
the other and lavishly paying for both. He would
not be denied.</p>
<p>His amazement was great when he visited the
exhibition for the first time. The wonderful cosmopolitan
city that seemed to have leapt into existence
in the space of one of the thousand and one nights
of the Persian legend stirred his eastern imagination,
strive though he might to conceal the fact.
The splendour of the exotic display exercised an
irresistible attraction upon him; the glass-cases of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>
jewellery also fascinated his gaze, although he himself,
doubtless without realising it, was a perambulating
shop-window which any jeweller might have
longed to possess. On his long Persian tunic with
its red edges and ample skirts creased with folds he
wore a regular display of precious stones and one
did not know which to admire the most, the gleaming
sapphires that adorned his shoulder-straps, the
splendid emeralds, the exquisite turquoises that
studded the baldrick and the gold scabbard of his
sword, the four enormous rubies that took the place
of the buttons of his uniform, or the dazzling and
formidable diamond, the famous Daria-Nour, the
Sea of Light, fastened on to his <i>Khola</i>, the traditional
head-dress, whence jutted like a fountain of
light a quivering aigrette in brilliants. Thus
decked out, Muzaffr-ed-Din was valued at thirty-four
million francs net; and even then he was far
from carrying the whole of his fortune upon his
person: I have in fact been assured that, in the
depths of the iron trunk of which four vigilant
Persians had the keeping, there slumbered an equal
number of precious stones, no less fine than the
others and content to undergo the rigour of a
temporary disgrace. At all events, in the guise
in which he showed himself in public, he was enough
to excite the admiring curiosity of the crowds.</p>
<p>In his solemn walks through the various sections<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
of the exhibition, where my modest frock-coat
looked drab and out of place among the glittering
uniforms, he was attended by the grand vizier, the
only dignitary entitled, by the etiquette of the Persian
court, to carry a cane in the presence of his
sovereign, who himself always leant upon a stick
made of some precious wood. He was invariably
followed by a grave and attentive Persian carrying
a hand-bag. This person puzzled me at first. His
fellow-countrymen treated him with respect and
addressed him in deferential tones. I had concluded
from this that he filled some lofty function
or other and felt the more justified in so thinking
as the Shah from time to time made him a little
sign, whereupon, promptly, all three—the Shah, the
Persian and the hand-bag—disappeared for a few
moments into a dark corner. However, I soon
learnt that these mysterious meetings had no political
significance: the Persian was merely a
confidential body-servant; as for the hand-bag, it
held simply the most homely and the most intimate
of all the world's utensils and the Shah was frequently
obliged to have recourse to it. This little
drawback, however, did not damp his eagerness to
know, to see and to buy things. He bought everything
indifferently: musical instruments, old tapestries,
a set of table-cutlery, a panorama, a "new-art"
ring, a case of pistols. He looked, touched,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>
weighed the thing in his hand and then, raising his
forefinger, said, "<i>Je prends</i>," while the delighted
exhibitor, greatly touched and impressed, took down
the order and the address.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, Muzaffr-ed-Din was not so rich as
one would be inclined to think. Each time, in fact,
that he came to Europe, where he spent fabulous
sums, he procured the money needed for his journey,
not only by raising a loan, generally in Russia,
but also by a method which was both ingenious and
businesslike. Before leaving his possessions, he
summoned his chief officers of State—ministers,
provincial governors and the like—and proposed
the following bargain to them: those who wished to
form part of his suite must first pay him a sum
of money which he valued in accordance with the
importance of their functions. It varied between
50,000 and 300,000 francs. In return, he authorised
them to recoup themselves for this advance in
any way they pleased. Here we find the explanation
of the large number of persons who accompanied
the Shah on his travels and the quaint and
unexpected titles which they bore, such as that of
"minister of the dockyard," though Persia has
never owned a navy, and one still more extraordinary,
that of "attorney to the heir apparent."
Although they sometimes had romantic souls, they
invariably had terribly practical minds. Eager<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
to recover as quickly as possible the outlay to
which their ambition to behold the West had induced
them to consent, they practised on a huge
scale and without scruple or hesitation what I may
describe as the bonus or commission system. Notwithstanding
my long experience of human frailties,
I confess that this proceeding, cynically raised
by these gentlemen to the level of an institution,
upset all my notions, while it explained how the
Shah was able to spend eight to twelve million
francs in pocket-money on each of his trips to
France.</p>
<p>As soon as the people about him knew what shops
His Majesty proposed to visit in the course of his
daily drive, a bevy of courtiers would swoop down
upon the awestruck tradesman and imperiously insist
upon his promising them a big commission, in
exchange for which they undertook to prevail upon
His Majesty graciously to honour the establishment
with his custom. The shopkeeper as a rule
raised no objection; he was quite content to increase
the price in proportion; and, when the good Shah,
accompanied by his vizier and the famous hand-bag,
presented himself a few hours later in the shop,
his suite praised the goods of the house so heartily
that he never failed to let fall the traditional phrase,
"<i>Je prends</i>," so as to give no one even the slightest
pain. Nor, for that matter, did any of those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
surrounded him dream of making a secret of the
traffic in which he indulged behind his sovereign's
back: it was a right duly acquired and paid for.</p>
<p>I am bound to say, however, that the grand
vizier—no doubt because he was already too well-off—appeared
to be above these sordid and venial
considerations. This important personage, whose
name on that occasion was His Highness the
Sadrazani Mirza Ali Asghar Khan Emin es Sultan,
combined an acute understanding with a superior
cast of mind; the Shah showed him a very noteworthy
affection and treated him as a friend.
These marks of special kindness were due to curious
causes, which an amiable Persian was good enough
to reveal to me. It appears that, when the late
Shah Nasr-ed-Din was shot dead at the mosque
where he was making a pilgrimage, the grand
vizier of the time, who was none other than this
same Mirza Ali Asghar Khan, pretended that the
Shah's wound was not serious, had the corpse
seated in the carriage and drove back to the palace
beside it, acting as if he were talking to his
sovereign, fanning him and asking occasionally for
water to quench his thirst, as though he were still
alive.</p>
<p>The death was not acknowledged till some days
later. In this way, the vizier gave the heir-apparent,
the present Shah, time to return from Tanris<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
and avoided the grave troubles that would certainly
have arisen had the truth been known. Muzaffr-ed-Din
owned his crown and perhaps his life to his
grand vizier; small wonder that he showed him
some gratitude.</p>
<p>His court minister, Mohamed Khan, could also
have laid claim to this gratitude, for he gave proof
of remarkable presence of mind at the time of the
attempted assassination of which Muzaffr-ed-Din
was the object during his stay in Paris in 1900.</p>
<p>The incident is perhaps still in the reader's recollection.
The Shah, with the court minister by his
side and General Parent, the chief French officer
attached to his person, seated facing him, had just
left the Sovereign's Palace to drive to the exhibition,
when a man sprang on the step of the open
landau, produced a revolver and took aim at the
monarch's chest. Before he had time, however, to
pull the trigger, a hand of iron fell upon his wrist
and clutched it with such force that the man was
compelled to let go his revolver, which fell at the
feet of the sovereign, while the would-be murderer
was arrested by the police. Mohamed Khan, by
this opportune and energetic interference, had prevented
a shot the consequences of which would
have been disastrous for the Shah and very annoying
for the French government, all the more so
inasmuch as the author of this attempt was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
French subject, a sort of fanatic from the South,
to whom the recent assassination of King Humbert
of Italy had suggested this fantastic plan of making
away with the unoffending Muzaffr-ed-Din.
Here is a curious detail: I had received that very
morning an anonymous letter, dated from Naples,
but posted in Paris, in which the sovereign was
warned that an attempt would be made on his life.
Although this kind of communication was frequent,
I had ordered the supervision to be redoubled inside
the palace; as a matter of fact, I did not much
fear a surprise outside, as the Shah never drove out
but his carriage was surrounded by a detachment
of cavalry. Now ill-luck would have it that he
took it into his head to go out that day before the
time which he himself had fixed and without waiting
for the arrival of the escort: I have shown the result.</p>
<p>During the whole of this tragic scene, which lasted
only a few seconds, he did not utter a single word;
the pallor which had overspread his cheeks alone
betrayed the emotion which he had felt. Nevertheless,
he ordered the coachman to drive on. When,
at last, they reached the Champs Élysées and he
perceived numerous groups waiting to cheer him,
he emerged from his stupor:</p>
<p>"Is it going to begin again?" he cried, in accents
of terror.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p>
<h3 class="p2">3.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">He was given, in fact, to easy and strange fits of
alarm. He always carried a loaded pistol in his
trowsers-pocket, though he never used it. On one
of his journeys in France, he even took it into his
head to make a high court-official walk before him
when he left the theatre, carrying a revolver pointed
at the peaceable sightseers who had gathered to
see him come out. As soon as I saw this, I ran
up to the threatening body-guard:</p>
<p>"Put that revolver away," I said. "It's not the
custom here."</p>
<p>But I had to insist pretty roughly before he consented
to put away his weapon.</p>
<p>The Shah, for that matter, was no less distrustfull
of his own subjects; in fact, I observed that,
when the Persians were in his presence, they
adopted a uniform attitude which consisted in holding
their hands crossed on their stomach, no doubt
as evidence of their harmless intentions. It was a
guarantee of a very casual sort, we must admit.</p>
<p>For the rest, his "alarms" displayed themselves
under the most diverse aspects and in the most unexpected
circumstances. For instance, there was
no persuading him ever to ascend the Eiffel Tower.
The disappointment of his guides was increased by
the fact that he would come as far as the foot of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
the pillars; they always thought that he meant to
go up. But no: once below the immense iron
framework, he gazed up in the air, examined the
lifts, flung a timid glance at the staircases, then
suddenly turned on his heels and walked away.
They told him in vain that his august father had
gone up as far as the first floor; nothing could induce
him to do as much.</p>
<p>I again remember a day—it was at the time of his
second stay in Paris—when, on entering his drawing-room,
I found him wearing a very careworn
air.</p>
<p>"Paoli," he said, taking my hand and leading me
to the window, "look!"</p>
<p>Look as I might, I saw nothing out of the way.
Down below, three bricklayers stood on the pavement,
talking quietly together.</p>
<p>"What!" said the Shah. "Don't you see those
men standing still, down there. They have been
there for an hour, talking and watching my
window. Paoli, they want to kill me."</p>
<p>Repressing a terrible wish to laugh, I resolved
to reassure our guest with a lie:</p>
<p>"Why, I know them!" I replied. "I know their
names: they are decent working-men."</p>
<p>Muzaffr-ed-Din's face lit up at once:</p>
<p class="b1">"You seem to know everybody," he said, giving
me a grateful look.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-124.jpg" width="400" height="719"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">THE SHAH OF PERSIA</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">The most amusing incident was that which happened
on the occasion of an experiment with
radium. I had described to the sovereign, in the
course of conversation, the wonderful discovery
which our great <i>savant</i>, M. Currie, had just made,
a discovery that was called upon to revolutionise
science. The Shah was extremely interested by
my story and repeatedly expressed a desire to be
shown the precious magic stone. Professor Currie
was informed accordingly, and, in spite of his stress
of work, agreed to come to the Élysée Palace Hôtel
and give an exhibition. As, however, complete
darkness was needed for radium to be admired in
all its brilliancy, I had with endless trouble persuaded
the King of Kings to come down to one of
the hotel cellars arranged for the purpose. At the
appointed time, His Majesty and all his suite proceeded
to the underground apartment in question.
Professor Currie closed the door, switched off the
electric light and uncovered his specimen of radium,
when, suddenly, a shout of terror, resembling at one
and the same time the roar of a bull and the yells
of a man who is being murdered, rang out, followed
by hundreds of similar cries. Amid general excitement
and consternation, we flung ourselves upon
the electric switches, turned on the lights and beheld
a strange sight: in the midst of the prostrate
Persians stood the Shah, his arms clinging to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
neck of his howling grand vizier, his round pupils
dilated to their rims, while he shouted at the top
of his voice, in Persian:</p>
<p>"Come away! Come away!"</p>
<p>The switching on of the light calmed this mad
anguish as though by magic. Realising the disappointment
which he had caused M. Currie, he tried
to offer him a decoration by way of compensation;
but the austere man of science thought right to decline
it.</p>
<p>The instinctive dread of darkness and solitude
was so keen in the Persian monarch that he required
his bed-room to be filled during the night
with light and sound. Accordingly, every evening,
as soon as he had lain down and closed his eyes,
the members of his suite gathered round his bed, lit
all the candelabra and exchanged their impressions
aloud, while young nobles of the court, relieving
one another in pairs, conscientiously patted his
arms and legs with little light, sharp, regular taps.
The King of Kings imagined that he was in this
way keeping death at a distance, if perchance it
should take a fancy to visit him in his sleep, and
the extraordinary thing is that he did sleep, notwithstanding
all this massage, light and noise.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p>
<h3 class="p2">4.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">The need which he felt of having people constantly
around him and of reproducing the atmosphere
of his distant country wherever he fixed his
temporary residence was reflected in the picturesque
and singularly animated aspect which the
hotel or palace at which he elected to stay assumed
soon after his installation. It was promptly transformed
into a vast, exotic caravanserai, presenting
the appearance of a French fair combined with that
of an eastern bazaar. The house was taken possession
of by its new occupants from the kitchens,
ruled over by the Persian master-cook who prepared
the monarch's dishes, to the attics, where the
inferior servants were accommodated. One saw
nothing but figures in dark tunics and astrakhan
caps, squatting in the passages, leaning over the
staircases; along the corridors and in the halls, the
shopkeepers had improvised stalls as at Teheran,
in the hope that the monarch would let fall from
his august lips in passing the "<i>Je prends</i>" that
promised wealth. In the uncouth crowd which the
desire of provoking and hearing that blessed phrase
attracted to the waiting-rooms of the hotel, all the
professions rubbed shoulders promiscuously; curiosity-dealers,
unsuccessful inventors, collectors of
autographs and postage-stamps, ruined financiers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
charlatans, unknown artists, women of doubtful
character.</p>
<p>Their numbers had increased so greatly, on the
faith of the legend that the Shah's treasures were
inexhaustible, that a radical step had to be taken:
when Muzaffr-ed-Din returned to Paris in 1902
and 1905, the applicants for favours were forbidden
to resume their little manœuvre. Thereupon
they changed their tactics: they sat down and
wrote.</p>
<p>I have kept these letters, which the Shah never
read and which his secretary handed me regularly,
without having read them either. They arrived by
each post in shoals. One could easily make a
volume of them which would provide psychologists
with a very curious study of the human soul and
mind. Among those poor letters are many obscure,
touching, comic, candid and cynical specimens;
some also are absurd; others imprudent or
sad. Most of them are signed; and among the
signatures of these requests for assistance are
names which one is surprised to find there. I must
be permitted to suppress these names and to limit
myself, in this mad orgie of epistolary literature, to
reproducing the most typical of the letters that fell
under my eyes.</p>
<p>First, a few specimens of "the comic note:"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
<p class="pq p1">"<i>To His Majesty, Muzaffr-ed-Din, Shah of Persia.</i>
"<i>Your Majesty</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"Knowing that you look kindly upon French requests,
I venture to address these few lines to you. I am expecting
my sister, Mlle. Crampel, who has a situation in Russia;
as she is ill, I would like her to remain in France.
For us to live together, I should have to start a business
with a capital of 3 to 5,000 francs, which I do not possess
and which I cannot possibly find. I am 58 years of age.</p>
<p class="pq">"In the hope that you will lend a favourable ear to my
request, I am</p>
<p class="pq20">"Your Majesty's most humble servant,</p>
<p class="pq60">"<span class="smcap">Madame M.</span></p>
<p class="pq p1">"P. S.—In gratitude, with Your Majesty's permission,
I would place a sign representing Your Majesty over the
shop-front."</p>
<p class="pqn p2">
"<i>Sire</i>,—</p>
<p class="pqn">"The feeling that prompts me to write to you, O noble
King, is the love which I feel for your country. I will
come straight to the point: I will ask you, O Majesty,
if I, a plain French subject, may have a post of some kind
in your ideal kingdom.</p>
<p class="pqn">"Dentist I am; a dentist I would remain, in Your Majesty's
service. All my life long, you would be assured of
my complete devotion.</p>
<p class="pq20">"A future Persian dentist to his future King.</p>
<p class="pq60">"P. J. L.<br /></p>
<p class="pq p1">"Pray, Sire, address the reply to the <i>poste restante</i> at
Post-office No. 54."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
<p class="pqn p2">"<i>Great Shah</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"This missive which I have the honour of addressing to
Your Majesty is to tell you that I and my friends, Messieurs
Jules Brunel and Abel Chenet, have the honour of
offering you four bottles of champagne and two bottles of
claret.</p>
<p class="pq">"In exchange, may we beg for the Order of the Lion
and Sun, which it would give us great pleasure to receive
and which we hope that Your Majesty will confer upon
us? We are French citizens and old soldiers.</p>
<p class="pq">"We wish you constant good health and prosperity for
your country, Persia. You can send your servant to fetch
the bottles.</p>
<p class="pq">"We have the honour to greet you and we remain your
very humble servants, crying:</p>
<p class="pq">"'Long live H. M. Muzaffr-ed-Din and long live Persia!'</p>
<p class="pq60">"A. W."</p>
<p class="pq30 p1">"<span class="smcap">Thorigny (on my way home)</span>,</p>
<p class="pq50">"27 August, 1902.</p>
<p class="pqn p2">"<i>Your Majesty</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"Yesterday, Tuesday, I was in Paris, waiting to have
the pleasure of seeing you leave your hotel. That pleasure
was not vouchsafed me.</p>
<p class="pq">"But, on the other hand, a ring set with a diamond,
which I was taking to be repaired, was stolen from me by
a pickpocket.</p>
<p class="pq">"This ring was the only diamond which my wife possessed.
In consequence of the theft, she now possesses
none.</p>
<p class="pq">"I put myself the question whether I could not indict<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
you before a French court, as being the direct cause of
the theft.</p>
<p class="pq">"I find nothing in our French law-books likely to decide
in my favour.</p>
<p class="pq">"And so I prefer to come and beseech you to redress
the involuntary injury which you have done me.</p>
<p class="pq">"A choice stone, which I could have set as a ring, would
make good all the damage which I have suffered.</p>
<p class="pq">"I am well aware that you must have numerous and
various requests for assistance. This is not one of them.</p>
<p class="pq">"But I should be infinitely grateful to you if you would
understand that, but for your coming to Paris, I should
not have been robbed and if you would kindly send me a
choice stone to replace the one stolen from me.</p>
<p class="pq">"Will Your Majesty pray receive the homage of my
most profound respect.</p>
<p class="pq60">"G. P.</p>
<p class="pq50">"<i>Attorney-at-law</i>,</p>
<p class="pq30">"<span class="smcap">Barbezieux</span> (Gironde), France."</p>
<p class="pqn p2">"<i>To His Majesty</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq10">"<i>Muzaffr-ed-Din, Shah of Persia,</i></p>
<p class="pq20">"<i>At the Élysée Palace Hôtel, Paris</i>.</p>
<p class="pq">"I eagerly congratulate His Majesty on the great
honour which he has paid the French people by making a
long stay in the great international city. And I take advantage
of this occasion to beg His Majesty to initiate a
general convocation of all the sovereigns of the whole world
for next month, in order to open a subscription for the
construction of an unprecedented fairy palace (new style
and taking something from planetary nature and its marvels),<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
to be known as the Sovereign Palace of the Universal
Social Congress, symbolising the whole universe by
States, containing the apartments of every sovereign in
the world and situated near the Bois de Boulogne.</p>
<p class="pq">"I consider that His Majesty would thus have a good
opportunity of securing a great page in history.</p>
<p class="pq">"Hoping for a just appreciation and entire success, I
send His Majesty, the Shah of Persia, the assurance of my
greatest respect, together with my perfect consideration,
and I am,</p>
<p class="pq">"The most humble Architect-general of the Universal
Confederation of Social Peace,</p>
<p class="pq30">"At His Majesty's service,</p>
<p class="pq60">"C. M."</p>
<p class="p1">Now comes the touching note:</p>
<p class="pq p2">"A little provincial work-girl, who has not the honour of
being known to His Majesty, kneels down before him and,
with her hands folded together, entreats him to make her
a present of a sum of 1,200 francs, which would enable
her to marry the young man she loves.... Oh,
what blessings he would receive day by day for that kind
action!</p>
<p class="pq">"I beg the Shah to forgive me for the offences of this
letter against etiquette, with which I am not acquainted.
I kiss His Majesty's hands and I am</p>
<p class="pq20">"His most humble and obedient little servant,</p>
<p class="pq60">"A. C."</p>
<p class="p1">Lastly, is not the following letter an exquisitely
candid specimen of the proper art of "sponging"?</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p>
<p class="pqn p2"><i>"Your Majesty</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"As you are a friend of France, I propose to write to
you as a friend; you will permit me to do so, I hope.</p>
<p class="pq">"The question is this: I have the greatest longing to
set eyes on the sea; my husband has a few days' holiday
in the course of October; I should like to make the most of
it and to go away for a little while.</p>
<p class="pq">"Our means are very small indeed; my husband has
only 105 francs a month; and I could not do what I wish
without encroaching on my housekeeping money, which is
calculated down to the last centime.</p>
<p class="pq">"I therefore remembered your generosity and thought
that you might be touched by my request.</p>
<p class="pq">"You would not like a little Paris woman to be prevented
from enjoying the sight of the sea which you have
doubtless often admired.</p>
<p class="pq">"You are very fond of travelling; you will understand
my curiosity.</p>
<p class="pq">"Will Your Majesty deign to accept the expression of
my most respectful and distinguished sentiments?</p>
<p class="pq60">"<span class="smcap">Mme. A. A.</span>"</p>
<p class="p1">A worthy woman sent this rich note:</p>
<p class="pqn p2">"<i>To His Majesty, the King of Persia</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"My name is the Widow Bressoy, aged 82. I have lost
my husband and two of my daughters; I am unable to
walk and I owe a quarter's rent. My grandmother
washed for His Majesty King Louis-Philippe of France;
H. R. H. the Duc d' Aumale used to help me with my
rent; show your kind heart and do as he did. Should you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
come to the church of Ste. Elisabeth du Temple on Sunday
next, I should be very glad to see you.</p>
<p class="pq">"I am</p>
<p class="pq20">"Your Majesty's most respectful servant,</p>
<p class="pq60">"<span class="smcap">Widow Bressoy</span>."</p>
<p class="p1">The following original proposal came from a
well-known business-house:</p>
<p class="pqn p2">"<i>Sir</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"After the Monza crime and the attempt of which you
were the object yesterday and in view of the solemnities
during which you might be too much exposed to danger, I
consider it my duty to bring to your notice certain particulars
which might be of the greatest use to you and
those about your person.</p>
<p class="pq">"I refer to secret waistcoats of my own manufacture
which I am able to offer to you and which are absolutely
warranted.</p>
<p class="pq">"The waistcoat which I am offering is proof against a
revolver-bullet and, of course, against a sword or dagger.</p>
<p class="pq">"As an absolute guarantee, I can assure you as follows
by experiment: the fabric consists of a very close and
solidly-riveted coat of steel mail; the shape of the links
has been specially studied so as to allow of great suppleness,
while preserving the greatest solidity.</p>
<p class="pq">"It resists the 12 <i>mm.</i> bullet of the regulation revolver,
1874 pattern.</p>
<p class="pq">"I have specimens at which bullets were fired at a distance
of 4 yards; they give an exact idea of the resisting
power.</p>
<p class="pq">"The coat of mail is lined with silk or satin, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>
gives the appearance of an ordinary garment and does
not for a moment suggest its special object.</p>
<p class="pq">"The waistcoat covers and protects the back, the chest,
the stomach and is continued down the abdomen.</p>
<p class="pq">"I must add that the waistcoat is very easy to wear and
in no way inconvenient, on condition that I am supplied
with the necessary measurements or, better still, with an
ordinary day-waistcoat of the wearer's, fitted to his size.</p>
<p class="pq">"Hoping in the circumstances to be of some use to you,
I beg Your Majesty to accept the expression of my most
profound respect.</p>
<p class="pq60">"R. G."</p>
<p class="p1">Let us pass to the children. Less unreasonable
than their parents, they content themselves with
asking for postage-stamps, bicycles or autographs.</p>
<p>First comes a public schoolboy, quite proud of
incidentally showing that he knows his classics:</p>
<p class="pqn p2">"<i>Sire</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"When you first set foot on French soil, you were
pleased to take notice, at Maubeuge railway-station, of a
young public schoolboy, who, not knowing your quality,
was only able to give you a very respectful greeting.
That young schoolboy was myself.</p>
<p class="pq">"I realised the extent of the signal honour which Your
Majesty did me when I learnt that I had received it from
the sovereign of Persia, the country of Xerxes and Darius,
the land whose children have filled the world with the fame
of their exploits. And, descending the course of the ages,
reverting to the lessons of my masters, I hailed in you
'the wise and enlightened monarch whose reign opens out
so many hopes.'</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p>
<p class="pq">"Sire, I shall never forget that moment, which will
probably be the only one of its kind in my life; but, if I
were permitted to express a desire, I would humbly confess
to Your Majesty that my greatest happiness would be to
possess a collection of Persian postage-stamps, as an official
token of the honour which you condescended to do me.</p>
<p class="pq">"Deign, Sire, etc.</p>
<p class="pq60">"R. W.</p>
<p class="pq30">"<i>Pupil at The Lycée Faidherbe, Lille</i></p>
<p class="pq50">"(on my holidays)."</p>
<p class="p1">The next has not yet learnt the beauties of literary
style; he has less notions of form; but his ambition
is more far-reaching:</p>
<p class="pqn p2">"<i>Your Majesty</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"I begin by begging your pardon for my presumption;
but I have heard everybody say and I read in the paper
that Your Majesty is greatly interested in motor-cars. I
therefore thought that you must also have ridden the bicycle,
which you now, no doubt, care less for; and it occurred
to me that, if you happened to have an old one
put by, Your Majesty might do me the honour to give it
to me.</p>
<p class="pq">"Papa and my big brother Jean go out riding on their
bicycles and I am left at home with mamma, because I
have not a machine and they cannot afford to buy me one.</p>
<p class="pq">"I should be so proud to have a bicycle, given me by
Your Majesty.</p>
<p class="pq">"I shall not tell papa that I am writing to Your Majesty,
because he would laugh at me, and I shall take three
sous from my purse for the stamp on this letter.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p>
<p class="pq">"I pray God not to let those wicked anarchists attack
Your Majesty, to whom I offer my profound respect.</p>
<p class="pq50">"<span class="smcap">Maurice Lelandais</span>,</p>
<p class="pq60">"<i>aged 9½ years</i>,</p>
<p class="pq20">"living with his family, <i>Faubourg Bizienne</i>,</p>
<p class="pq30">"<span class="smcap">Guérande</span> (<i>Loire-Inférieure</i>)."</p>
<p class="p1">Another schoolboy:</p>
<p class="pq40 p2">"<span class="smcap">Verviers</span>, 3 September.</p>
<p class="pqn">"<i>Great King of Persia in France, Sir</i>,—<br />
</p>
<p class="pq">"I have read in the paper that you are very rich and
have lots of gold.</p>
<p class="pq">"My father promised to give me a gold watch for my
first communion next year, if I worked hard at school.</p>
<p class="pq">"I did study, Sir, for I was second and the first is thirteen
years old and I am only eleven and a half. To
prove it to you, here is my prize-list. Now, when I ask
if I shall have my watch, my father answers that he has
no money and he wants it all for bread. It is not right,
Sir, to deceive me like that. But I hope that you will give
me what they refuse. Do me that great pleasure. I will
pray for you.</p>
<p class="pq">"I love you very much.</p>
<p class="pq60">"M. J."</p>
<p class="p1">Here is an artless request from a little English
girl:</p>
<p class="pqn p2">"<i>Your Majesty</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"I hear you are taking a holiday in Paris and I think
that this must be the best time to write to you, for you
will not be so busy as in your own kingdom.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p>
<p class="pq">"First of all, I want to tell you that I am an English
girl, fourteen years of age, and my name is Mary. I
love collecting autographs and so far I have been very
lucky and have got some of celebrities, but I have none of
a King, except Menelik, who is a black majesty.</p>
<p>"Now I should ever so much like to have a few lines
in your handwriting.</p>
<p class="pq">"Do be so very kind as to write to me.</p>
<p class="pq60">"<span class="smcap">Mary St. J.</span>"</p>
<p class="p1">To conclude with, here are a few lively letters
from ladies dark and fair:</p>
<p class="pq60 p2">
"<span class="smcap">Paris</span>, 27 July.</p>
<p class="pqn">"<i>Sir</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"I won the last beauty-prize at Marienbad and I am
simply dying to make your acquaintance.</p>
<p class="pq">"In this hope, I have the honour to greet you.</p>
<p class="pq60">"<span class="smcap">Fernande de B.</span>"</p>
<p class="pq60 p2">"<span class="smcap">Marseilles</span>, 1 August.</p>
<p class="pqn">"<i>Sire</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"It is a pleasure to me to write to you. From my
childhood's days, I have admired Persia, that beautiful
country, so dear to my heart. Since I have heard you
mentioned, I love you, Sire; I should like to be at your
service. I do not know the Persian language, but, if you
adopt me, I shall know it in a few days and you shall be
my master.</p>
<p class="pq">"Receive, Sire, my sincere greetings.</p>
<p class="pq60">"<span class="smcap">Mireille</span>——.</p>
<p class="pq">"P. S.—Please reply. I will start for Paris at once."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p>
<p class="pq60 p2">"<span class="smcap">Paris</span>, 29 July.</p>
<p class="pq">"<i>To Monsieur Muzaffr-ed-Din.</i></p>
<p class="pqn">"<i>Monsieur Le Chah</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"Forgive me for taking the liberty of writing to you.
I had the pleasure of seeing you yesterday in the Avenue
du Bois de Boulogne and of receiving a wave of the hand
from you and a most gracious smile.</p>
<p class="pq">"How I should love to make your acquaintance and to
have the pleasure of pressing your hand!</p>
<p class="pq">"You may be certain of my entire discretion. You can,
if you do not mind, appoint whatever time and place you
please.</p>
<p class="pq">"I should be very happy to see you; and I may venture
to add that I am a very handsome woman.</p>
<p class="pq15">"Believe me,</p>
<p class="pq20">"Monsieur le Chah,</p>
<p class="pq25">"Yours most cordially,</p>
<p class="pq50">"<span class="smcap">Madame Marguerite L.</span></p>
<p class="pq">"P. S.—I beg you to destroy this letter."</p>
<p class="pqn p2">"<i>To His Majesty, Muzaffr-ed-Din</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"We should be greatly honoured if you would do us the
honour to come and spend a few days in the principality
of Monaco.</p>
<p class="pq40">"A group of ladies:</p>
<p class="pq60">"<span class="smcap">Blanche.<br />"Jeanne.<br />"Adèle."</span></p>
<h3 class="p2">5.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">All these efforts of the imagination, all these
prodigies of ingenuity, all these amorous suggestions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
were wasted. As I have said, the Shah took
no notice whatever of the six hundred and odd begging
letters of different kinds addressed to him
during his visits to France. Pleasure-loving and
capricious, careful of his own peace of mind, he
dreaded and avoided emotions. Nevertheless, he
was not insensible to pity nor indifferent to the
charms of the fair sex. At certain times, he was
capable of sudden movements of magnificent generosity:
he would readily give a diamond to some
humble workwoman whom he met on his way; he
would of his own accord hand a bank-note to a beggar;
he freely distributed Persian gold-pieces
stamped with his effigy.</p>
<p class="b1">He would also fall a victim to sudden erotic
fancies that sometimes caused me moments of cruel
embarrassment. I remember that, one afternoon,
when we were driving in the Bois de Boulogne,
near the lakes, Muzaffr-ed-Din noticed a view
which he admired, ordered the carriages to stop and
expressed a desire himself to take some snapshots
of the charming spot. We at once alighted. A
little further, a group of smart ladies sat chatting
gaily without taking the smallest heed of our presence.
The Shah, seeing them, asked me to beg
them to come closer so that he might photograph
them. Although I did not know them, I went upand
spoke to them and, with every excuse, explained
the sovereign's whim to them. Greatly
amused, they yielded to it with a good grace. The
Shah took the photograph, smiled to the ladies and,
when the operation was over, called me to him
again:</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-141.jpg" width="400" height="231"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">THE SHAH LEAVING THE ÉLYSEÉ PALACE FOR A WALK</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">"Paoli," he said, "they are very pretty, very
nice; go and ask them if they would like to come
back with me to Teheran."</p>
<p>Imagine my face! I had to employ all the resources
of my eloquence to make the King of Kings
understand that you cannot take a woman to Teheran,
as you would a piano; a cinematograph or
a motor-car, and that you cannot say of her, as of
an article in a shop, "<i>Je prends</i>."</p>
<p>I doubt whether he really grasped the force of
my arguments, for, some time after, when we were
at the Opera in the box of the President of the Republic,
we perceived with dismay that His Persian
Majesty, instead of watching the performance on
the stage—consisting of that exquisite ballet <i>Coppélia</i>,
with some of our prettiest dancers taking part
in it—kept his opera-glass obstinately fixed on a
member of the audience in the back row of the
fourth tier, giving signs of manifest excitement as
he did so. I was beginning to wonder with anxiety
whether he had caught sight of some "suspicious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
face," when the court minister, in whose ear he had
whispered a few words, came over to me and said,
with an air of embarrassment:</p>
<p>"His Majesty feels a profound admiration for a
lady up there. Do you see? The fourth seat from
the right. His Majesty would be obliged to you if
you would enable him to make her acquaintance.
You can tell her, if you like, as an inducement, that
my sovereign will invite her to go back with him to
Teheran."</p>
<p>"Again!"</p>
<p>Although this sort of errand did not fall within
the scope of my instructions, I regarded the worthy
Oriental's idea as so comical that I asked one of my
detectives who, dressed to the nines, was keeping
guard outside the presidential box, whether he
would care to go upstairs and, if possible, convey
the flattering invitation to the object of the imperial
flame. My Don Juan by proxy assented and set
out on his mission.</p>
<p>The Shah's impatience increased from moment
to moment. The last act had begun when I saw
my inspector return alone and looking very sheepish:</p>
<p>"Well," I asked, "what did she say?"</p>
<p>"She boxed my ears."</p>
<p>The sovereign, when the grand vizier conveyed
this grievous news to him, knitted his bushy eyebrows,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
declared that he was tired, and ordered his
carriage.</p>
<p>My duty as a conscientious historian obliges me,
however, to mention the fact that Muzaffr-ed-Din
did not always meet with such piteous rebuffs in
the field of gallantry upon which he gladly
ventured. He kept up a very fond and regular
flirtation in Paris with a French favourite, a charming
and exceedingly beautiful person, who had
been seduced by the bejewelled opulence of the
King of Kings. She had rooms in the monarch's
hotel each time he came to France; and they retained
a sort of affection for each other notwithstanding
the mutual disappointment which they had
experienced: she, because she thought that he was
generous; he, because he hoped that she was disinterested.
That she was anxious to turn a great
man's friendship to account can, strictly speaking,
be imagined; on the other hand, it is incomprehensible
that the Shah, who was so easily moved
to generosity towards the first comer, should display
a sordid avarice towards the woman whom he
himself had selected from among so many. Perhaps
he was ingenuous enough to wish to be loved
for his own sake. At any rate, this continual misunderstanding
led to intensely funny scenes. The
young woman, exasperated by obtaining nothing
but promises each time she expressed the desire to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
possess a pearl necklace or a diamond ring, ended
by resorting to heroic methods: she locked her door
when the Shah announced his coming. The King
of Kings stamped, threatened, implored.</p>
<p>"My diamonds first! My pearls first!" she replied,
from behind the locked door.</p>
<p>In vain he offered the worn-out journey to Teheran:
it was no good. Then, resigning himself,
he sent for the necklace or the ring. In this way,
she collected a very handsome set of jewellery.</p>
<p>Although, as I have said, her rooms were next
to his own, Muzaffr-ed-Din saw comparatively little
of her; he had not the time; his days were too
full of engagements. Rising very early in the
morning, he devoted long hours to his toilet, to his
prayers and to his political conversations with the
grand vizier. He worked as little as possible, but
saw many people; he liked giving audiences to
doctors and purveyors. He always had his meals
alone, in accordance with Persian etiquette, and
was served at one time with European dishes, which
were better suited to his impaired digestive organs,
and at another with Persian fare, consisting of
slices of Ispahan melon, with white and flavoursome
flesh; of the national dish called <i>pilaf tiobab</i>,
in which meat cut up and mixed with delicate
spices lay spread on a bed of rice just scalded,
underdone and crisp; of hard-boiled eggs and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
young marrows; or else of <i>stilo</i> grill, represented
by scallops of mutton soaked in aromatic vinegar
and cooked over a slow fire of pinewood embers;
lastly, of aubergine fritters, of which he was very
fond. I am bound, for that matter, to say that
Persian cooking, which I had many opportunities
of tasting, is delicious and that the dishes which I
have named would have done honour to any Parisian
bill of fare.</p>
<p>After rising from table, Muzaffr-ed-Din generally
devoted an hour to taking a nap, after which
we went out either for a drive round the Bois or to
go and see the shops or the Paris sights. To tell
the truth, we hardly ever knew beforehand what the
sovereign's plans were. He seemed to take a mischievous
delight in altering the afternoon programme
and route which I had worked out with his
approval in the morning. Thanks to his whims, I
lived in a constant state of alarm.</p>
<p>"I want to see some museums to-day," he
would say at eleven o'clock. "We will start at
two."</p>
<p>I at once informed the minister of fine-arts, who
told off his officials to receive him; I telephoned to
the military governor of Paris to send an escort.</p>
<p>At three o'clock, we were still waiting. At last,
just about four, he appeared, with a look of indifference
and care on his face, and told me that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
would much prefer to go for a drive in the Bois de
Boulogne.</p>
<p>One day, after he had spent the morning in
listening to a chapter of the life of Napoleon I,
he beckoned to me on his way to lunch.</p>
<p>"M. Paoli," he said, "I want to go to the Château
de Fontainebleau to-day."</p>
<p>"Well, Sir, you see."</p>
<p>"Quick, quick!"</p>
<p>There was no arguing the matter. I rushed to
the telephone, warned the panic-stricken P. L. M.
Co., that we must have a special train at all costs
and informed the keeper of the palace and the
dumb-foundered sub-prefect of our imminent arrival
at Fontainebleau.</p>
<p>When the Shah, still under the influence of his
morning's course of reading, stepped from the carriage,
two hours later, before the gate of the palace,
he was seized with a strange freak: he demanded
that the dragoons who had formed his escort from
the station should dismount and enter the famous
Cour des Adieux after him. Next he made them
fall into line in the middle of the great quadrangle,
leant against the steps, looked at them long and
fondly, muttered a few sentences in Persian and
then disappeared inside the palace.</p>
<p>Greatly alarmed, we thought at first that he had
gone mad; at last we understood: he had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>
enacting the scene in which the emperor takes leave
of his grenadiers. It may have been very flattering
for the dragoons; I doubt if it was quite so
flattering for Napoleon.</p>
<p>His visit to the Louvre Museum will also linger
in my memory among the amusing episodes of his
stay in Paris. M. Leyques, who was at that time
Minister of Fine Arts and in this capacity did the
honours of the museum to the Shah, had resolved
carefully to avoid showing our guest the Persian
room, fearing lest the King of Kings, who perhaps
did not grasp the importance of the priceless collection
which Mme. Dieulafoy and M. Morgan
had brought back with them, should show a keen
vexation at finding himself in the presence of
jewels and mosaics which he might have preferred
to see in his own country.</p>
<p>The minister, therefore, conducted him through
the picture and sculpture-galleries, trying to befog
his mind and tire his legs, so that he might declare
his curiosity satisfied as soon as possible.</p>
<p>Lo and behold, however, the Shah suddenly said:</p>
<p>"Take me to the Persian room!"</p>
<p>There was no evading the command. M. Leyques,
obviously worried, whispered an order to the
chief attendant and suggested to the Shah that
he should take a short rest before continuing his inspection.
The Shah agreed.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p>
<p>Meantime, in the Persian room, keepers and attendants
hurriedly cleared away the more valuable
ornaments and mosaics, so that Muzaffr-ed-Din
should not feel any too cruel regrets; and at last
the King of Kings, far from revealing any disappointment,
declared himself delighted to find in
Paris so well-arranged a collection of curious remains
of ancient Persian architecture and art.
And he added, slily:</p>
<p>"When I have a museum at Teheran, I shall see
that we have a French room."</p>
<p>For that matter, he was often capable of administering
a sort of snub when we thought that we
were providing him with a surprise. For instance,
one day, when, with a certain self-conceit, I showed
him our three camels in the Jardin d' Acclimatation:</p>
<p>"I own nine thousand!" he replied, with a scornful
smile.</p>
<p>Our Zoological gardens did not interest him; he
only really enjoyed himself there twice to my
knowledge. The first time was when, at his own
request, he was allowed to witness the repugnant
sight of a boa-constrictor devouring a live rabbit.
This produced, the next morning, the following
letter from "a working milliner," which I print
"with all faults:"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p>
<p class="pqn p2">
"<i>Monsieur le Chah</i>,—<br />
</p>
<p class="pq">"You have been to the Jardin d' Aclimatation (<i>sic</i>)
and watched the boa-constrictor eating a live rabbit. This
was very interesting, so you said. Ugh! How could the
King of Kings, an excellency, a majesty, find pleasure in
the awful torments of that poor rabbit? I hate people
who like going to bull-fights. Cruelty and cowardice go
hand in hand. Are you one of the company, monsieur le
Chah?"</p>
<p class="p1">The second time that he seemed to amuse himself
was on the occasion of a wedding-dance that
was being held in a room next to that in which he
had stopped to take tea. On hearing the music, he
suddenly rose and opened the door leading to the
ball-room. The appearance of the devil in person
would not have produced a greater confusion than
that of this potentate wearing his tall astrakhan
cap and covered with diamonds. But he, without
the least uneasiness, went the round of the couples,
shook hands with the bride and bridegroom, gave
them pieces of Persian gold money and made his
excuses to the bride for not having a necklace about
him to offer her. I was waiting for him to invite
her to accompany him to Teheran; the husband's
presence no doubt frightened him.</p>
<p>He seldom left his rooms at night. Sometimes
he went to circus performances or an extravaganza
or musical play; he preferred, however, to devote<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
his evenings to more domestic enjoyments; he loved
the pleasures of home life: sometimes, he played
with his little sons, "the little Shahs," as they were
called, nice little boys of seven to thirteen; at other
times, he indulged in his favourite games, chess
and billiards. He played with his grand vizier,
his minister of the ceremonies or myself. The
stakes were generally twenty francs, sometimes a
hundred. We did our best to lose, for, if we had
the bad luck to win, he would show his ill-temper
by suddenly throwing up the game and retiring into
a corner, where his servants lit his great Persian
pipe for him, the <i>kaljan</i>, a sort of Turkish narghileh,
filled with a scented tobacco called <i>tombeki</i>.
Often, also, to console himself for his mortification
at billiards, he called for music. I then heard songs
behind the closed hangings, harsh, strange and also
very sweet songs, accompanied on the piano or the
violin; it was a sort of evocation of the East in a
modern frame; and the contrast, I must say, was
rather pleasing.</p>
<h3 class="p2">6.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">The Shah and I grew accustomed to each other,
little by little, and became the best of friends.
He refused to go anywhere without me; I took
part in the drives, in the games at billiards, in
the concerts, in all the journeys. We went to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
Vichy, to Vittel, to Contrexéville. It was here, at
Contrexéville, where he had come for the cure, that
I saw him for the last time. His eccentricities, his
whims and his diamonds, had produced the usual
effect on the peaceful population of the town.</p>
<p>A few days after his arrival, hearing that
H. I. H. the grand-duchess Vladimir of Russia had
taken up her quarters at an hotel near his own, he
hastened to call and pay his respects and departed
from his habits to the length of inviting her to
luncheon.</p>
<p>On the appointed day, the grand-duchess, alighting
from her carriage before the residence of her
host, found the Shah waiting for her on the threshold
in a grey frock-coat with a rose in his buttonhole.
He ceremoniously led her by the hand to the
dining-room, making her walk through his rooms,
the floors of which he had had covered with the
wonderful kachan carpets that accompanied him on
all his journeys. The princess, charmed with these
delicate attentions on the great man's part, was beginning
to congratulate herself on the pleasant surprise
which Persian civilisation caused her when—we
had hardly sat down to table—a chamberlain
went up to the King of Kings, bowed low and
handed him a gold salver on which lay a queer-looking
and at first indescribable object. The
Shah, without blinking, carelessly put out his hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
took the thing between his fingers and, with an easy
and familiar movement, inserted it in his jaw: it
was a set of false teeth. Imagine the consternation!</p>
<p>But it was worse still when, about the middle of
the meal, the sovereign, suddenly interrupting his
conversation with Her Imperial Highness, rose
without a word, disappeared and returned in five
minutes to resume his place with a smile, after the
court minister had taken care to announce aloud
that "His Majesty had had to leave the room."</p>
<p>The grand-duchess, as may be imagined, retained
an unforgettable memory of this lunch, the more so
as the Shah, perhaps in order to wipe out any unpleasant
impression that might linger in her mind,
did a very gallant thing; the next day, the Princess
Vladimir received a bale of Persian carpets of inestimable
value, accompanied by a letter from the
grand vizier begging her, in the name of his
sovereign, to accept this present, His Majesty having
declared that he would not allow other feet to
tread carpets on which Her Imperial Highness's
had rested.</p>
<p>I, less fortunate than the grand-duchess, never,
alas, succeeded in obtaining possession of the one
and only carpet which Muzaffr-ed-Din had deigned—quite
spontaneously—to offer me.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p>
<p>"My ministers will see that you get it," he said.</p>
<p>When the day for his departure for Persia drew
near, I thought that it would be wise to ask the
court minister for my carpet in my most respectful
manner.</p>
<p>"Oh," he replied, "does it belong to you? The
only thing is that it has been packed up, by mistake,
with the others. If you want it, they can
give it to you in the train."</p>
<p>As I was to accompany our guest as far as the
German frontier, I waited until we had left Vichy
and discreetly repeated my request at the first
stop.</p>
<p>"Certainly," said the minister, "you shall have it
at the next station."</p>
<p>I was beginning to feel uneasy. At the following
stopping-place, there was no sign of a carpet.
We were approaching the frontier, where my mission
ended. I, therefore, resolved to apply to the
minister of public-works.</p>
<p>"Your excellency."</p>
<p>"Your carpet?" he broke in. "Quite right, my
dear M. Paoli. The orders have been given and
you shall have it when you leave us at the other
station."</p>
<p>But here again, alas, nothing! And, as I complained
to a third excellency of this strange piece
of neglect:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p>
<p>"It's an omission. Come with us as far as
Strassburg, where you will receive satisfaction."</p>
<p>At this rate, they would have carried me, by easy
stages, to Teheran. I, therefore, gave up all hopes
of my carpet. And, taking leave of these amiable
functionaries, I heard the good Shah's voice crying
in the distance:</p>
<p>"Good-bye, Paoli, worthy Paoli! Till our next
meeting!"</p>
<p class="p2">I never saw him again.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a><br /><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2><a name="IV" id="IV">IV</a></h2>
<p class="pn center p2 b1 large">THE TSAR NICHOLAS II AND THE TSARITSA ALEXANDRA FEODOROVNA</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-160.jpg" width="400" height="580"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">THE EMPEROR AND EMPRESS OF RUSSIA AND THE GRAND DUKE ALEXIS</p>
</div></div>
<h3 class="p2">1.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">One morning in June, 1901, I had just
reached the Ministry of the Interior and
was entering my office, when a messenger
came up to me and said, solemnly:</p>
<p>"The Prime Minister would like to speak to you
at once, sir."</p>
<p>When a public official is sent for by his chief,<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
the first thought that flashes across his brain is that
of disgrace, and he instinctively makes a rapid and
silent examination of conscience to quiet his anxious
mind, unless, indeed, he only ends by alarming
it. Nevertheless, I admit that when I received this
message, I took it philosophically. The Prime
Minister, at that time, was M. Waldeck-Rousseau.
It is not my business here to pass judgment on the
politician; and I have retained a most pleasant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
recollection of the man. To attractions more
purely intellectual he added a certain cordiality.
He looked upon events and upon life itself from
the point of view of a more or less disillusioned
dilettante; and this made him at once satirical, indulgent
and obliging. He honoured me with a
kindly friendship, notwithstanding the fact that he
used to reproach me, in his jesting way, with becoming
too much of a reactionary from my contact
with the monarchs of Europe and that I once
took his breath away by telling him that I had dined
with the Empress Eugénie at Cap Martin.</p>
<p>"A republican official at the Empress's table!"
he cried. "You're the only man, my dear Paoli,
who would dare to do such a thing. And you're
the only one," he added, slily, "in whom we would
stand it!"</p>
<p>For all that, when I entered his room on this
particular morning, I was struck with his thoughtful
air; and my surprise increased still further when
I saw him, after shaking hands with me, himself
close the door and give a glance to make sure that
we were quite alone.</p>
<p>"You must not be astonished at these precautions,"
he began. "I have some news to tell you
which, for reasons which you will understand as
soon as you hear what the news is, must be kept
secret as long as possible and you know that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>
walls of a ministerial office have very sharp ears.
This is the news: I have just heard from the Russian
ambassador and from Delcassé that the negotiations
which were on foot between the two
governments in view of a second visit of the Tsar
and Tsaritsa are at last completed. Their Majesties
will pay an official visit of three days to France.
They may come to Paris; in any case, they
will stay at the Château de Compiègne, where
the sovereigns will take up their quarters, together
with the President of the Republic and all of us.
They will arrive from Russia by sea; they will land
at Dunkerque on the 18th of September; and from
there they will go straight by rail to Compiègne.
The festivities will end with a visit to Rheims and
a review of our eastern frontier troops at Bethany
Camp."</p>
<p>The minister paused and then continued:</p>
<p>"And now I must ask you to listen to me very
carefully. I want <i>no accident nor incident</i> of any
kind to occur during this visit. The Tsar has been
made to believe that his safety and the Tsaritsa's
run the greatest risks through their coming to
France. It is important that we should give the
lie in a striking fashion—as we did in 1896—to
this bad reputation which our enemies outside are
trying to give us. They are simply working
against the alliance; and we have the greatest political<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
interest in defeating their machinations.
We must, therefore, take all necessary measures
accordingly; and I am entrusting this task to
Cavard, the chief of the detective service, Hennion,
his colleague, and yourself. You are to divide the
work among you. Cavard will control the whole
thing and settle the details; Hennion, with his remarkable
activity, will see that they are carried out
and devote himself to the protection of the Tsar;
and I have reserved for you the most enviable part
of the task: I entrust the Empress to your special
care."</p>
<p>The Emperor Nicholas II and the Empress
Alexandra were very nearly the only members of
the Russian Imperial family whom I did not yet
know. At the time when they made their first
journey to Paris, to celebrate the conclusion of the
Franco-Russian alliance, I was in Sweden as the
guest of King Oscar, His Majesty having most
graciously invited me to spend a period of sick-leave
with him; and it was on the deck of his yacht,
at the end of a dinner which he gave me in the Bay
of Stockholm, that the news of the triumphal reception
of the Russian sovereigns had come to gladden
my patriotism and his faithful affection for the
country which, through his Bernadotte blood, was
also his.</p>
<p>On the other hand, I had repeatedly had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
honour of attending the grand-dukes; and I was
attached to the person of the Tsarevitch George at
the time of his two stays on the Côte d'Azur, in the
villa which he occupied at the Cap d'Ail, facing
the sea, among the orange-trees and thymes. I
had beheld the sad and silent tragedy enacted in
the mind of that pale and suffering young prince,
heir to a mighty empire, whom death had already
marked for its own and who knew it! He
knew it, but had submitted to fate's decree without
a murmur. Resigning himself to the inevitable,
he strove to enjoy the few last pleasures
that life still held for him: the sunlight, the flowers
and the sea; he sought to beguile the anxiety of
those about him and of his doctors by assuming a
mask of playful good-humour and an appearance
of youthful hope and zest. Lastly, at the same
Villa des Terrasses, I had known the Dowager-Empress
Marie Feodorovna, whom her great
green-and-gold train had brought to Russia with
her children, the Grand-duchess Xenia and the
Grand-duke Michael, at the first news of a slight
relapse on the part of the illustrious patient.</p>
<p>For two long months, I took part in the inner
life of that little court; and more than once I detected
the anguish of the mother stealthily trying
to read the secret of her son's hectic eyes, peering
at his pale face, watching for his hoarse, hard cough,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>
as he walked beside her, or dined opposite her, or
played at cards with his sister, or stroked with his
long and too-white hands the head of his lively and
slender greyhound, Moustique.</p>
<p>These memories were already four years old.
How much had happened since then! The Tsarevitch
George had gone to the Caucasus to die;
the Franco-Russian alliance, the realisation of
which was contemplated in the interviews that
took place at the Cap d'Ail between the Dowager
Empress and Baron de Mohrenheim, the Russian
ambassador in Paris; this alliance might almost already
be described as an old marriage, in which the
heart has its reasons, of which the reason itself has
become aware.</p>
<p>This new visit of the allied sovereigns, therefore,
represented an important trump in the game of our
policy as against the rest of Europe: it supplied
the ready answer which we felt called upon to make
from time to time to those who were anxiously waiting
for the least event capable of disturbing the
intimacy of the Franco-Russian alliance, with a
view to exploiting any such event in favour of a
rupture.</p>
<p>The reader will easily, therefore, imagine the importance
which M. Waldeck-Rousseau attached to
his watchword: "No accident nor incident of any
kind!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
<p>The measures of protection with which a sovereign
is surrounded when he happens to be Emperor
of Russia are of a more complicated and delicate
character than in the case of any other monarch.
Guarded in a formidable manner by his own police,
whose brutal zeal, tending as it does to offend and
exasperate, is more of a danger than a protection,
the Tsar is, unknown to himself, enveloped by the
majority of those who hover round him in a network
of silent intrigues which keep up a latent
spirit of distrust and dismay.</p>
<p>It does not come within my present scope nor
do I here intend to frame an indictment against
the Russian police. For that matter, tragic incidents
and regrettable scandals enough have revealed
the sinister and complex underhand methods
of that occult force in such a way as to leave no
doubt concerning its nature in men's minds. I will
content myself with confessing that, although the
numberless anonymous letters which we used to receive
at the Ministry of the Interior before the
Tsar's arrival mostly failed to agitate us, the appearance,
on the other hand, of certain tenebrous
persons, who came to concert with us as to "the
measures to be taken," nearly always resulted in
awakening secret terrors within us. I became acquainted
in this way, with some of the celebrated
"figures" of the Russian secret police: the famous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
Harting was one of their number; and it
is also possible that I may have consorted, without
knowing it, with the mysterious Azeff. My clearest
recollection of my relations with these gentry—always
excepting M. Raskowsky, the chief of
the Russian police in Paris—is that we thought it
wise to keep them under observation and to hide
from them as far as possible the measures which
we proposed to adopt for the safety of their sovereigns!</p>
<p>As I have shown above, the responsibility of
organising these measures on the occasion of the
Tsar's journey in 1901 was entrusted to M. Cavard,
the head of the French political police; but the
honour of ensuring their proper performance was
due above all to M. Hennion, his chief lieutenant,
who has now succeeded him. In point of fact, M.
Cavard's long and brilliant administrative career
had not prepared him for such rough and tiring
tasks. An excellent official, this honest man,
whose high integrity it is a pleasure to me to recognise,
had a better grasp of the sedentary work of
the offices. Hennion, on the contrary, "knew his
business" and possessed its special qualities. Endowed
with a remarkable spirit of initiative and
an invariable coolness, eager, indefatigable and
shrewd, fond of fighting, with a quick scent for
danger, he was always seen in the breach and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
knew how to be everywhere at one time. This was
an indispensable quality when the zone to be protected
extended, as it did in this case, over a length
of several hundred miles and embraced almost half
France.</p>
<p>In what did these measures consist? First of all,
in doubling the watch kept on foreigners living in
France and notably on the Russian anarchists.
The copious information which we possessed about
their antecedents and their movements made our
task an easy one. Paris, like every other large city
in Europe, contains a pretty active focus of nihilism.
This consists mainly of students and of
young women, who are generally more formidable
than the men. Still, these revolutionary spirits always
prefer theory to action and were, consequently,
less to be feared than those who, on the
pretext of seeing the festivities, might come from
abroad charged with a criminal mission.</p>
<p>We had, therefore, established observation-posts
in all the frontier stations, posts composed of officers
who lost no time in fastening on the steps of
any suspicious traveller. But, however minute our
investigations might be, it was still possible for the
threads of a plot to escape us; and we had to prepare
ourselves against possible surprises at places
where it was known that the sovereigns were likely
to be. A special watch had to be kept along the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
railways over which the imperial train would travel
and in the streets through which the procession
would pass. For this purpose, we divided, as
usual, the line from Dunkerque to Compiègne and
from Compiègne to the frontier into sections and
sub-sections, each placed under the command of the
district commissary of police, who had under his
orders the local police-force and gendarmery, reinforced
by the troops stationed in the department.
Posted at intervals on either side of the line, at the
entrance and issue of the tunnels, on and under the
bridges, sentries, with loaded rifles, prevented anyone
from approaching and had orders to raise an
alarm if they saw that the least suspicious object
had, unknown to them, been laid on or near the
rails.</p>
<p>We also identified the tenants of all the houses
situated either along the railway-line or in the
streets through which our guests were to drive.
As a matter of fact, what we most feared was the
traditional outrage perpetrated or attempted from
a window. On the other hand, we refused (contrary
to what has been stated) to adopt the system
employed by the Spanish, German and Italian police
on the occasion of any visit from a sovereign,
the system which consists in arresting all the "suspects"
during the period of the royal guest's stay.
This proceeding not only appeared to us needlessly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
vexatious, for it constitutes a flagrant attempt
upon the liberty of the individual, but we thought
that, with our democracy, there was a danger of its
alienating the sympathy of our population from our
august visitors. We had, therefore, to be content
to forestall any possible catastrophes by other and
less arbitrary means.</p>
<h3 class="p2">2.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">Our vigilance was naturally concentrated with
the greatest attention upon Compiègne. We sent
swarms of police to beat the forest and search every
copse and thicket; and the château itself was inspected
from garret to basement by our most
trusted detectives. These precautions, however,
seemed insufficient to our colleagues of the Russian
police. A fortnight before the arrival of the sovereigns,
one of them, taking us aside, said:</p>
<p>"The cellars must be watched."</p>
<p>"But it seems to us," we replied, "that we cannot
very well do more than we are doing: they are
visited every evening; and there are men posted at
all the doors."</p>
<p>"Very good; but how do you know that your
men will not be bribed and that the 'terrorists' will
not succeed, unknown to you, in placing an explosive
machine in some dark corner?"</p>
<p>"But what do you suggest, then?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p>
<p>"Put men upon whom you can rely, here and
now, in each cellar, with instructions to remain
there night and day until Their Majesties' departure.
And, above all, see that they hold no communication
with the outside. They must prepare
their own meals."</p>
<p>The solution may have been ingenious, but we
declined to entertain it; we considered, in point of
fact, that it was unnecessary two weeks before the
coming of the Emperor and Empress, to condemn
a number of decent men to underground imprisonment,
a form of torture which had not been inflicted
on even the worst criminals for more than a century
past.</p>
<p>On the other hand, we mixed some detectives
with the numerous staff of workmen who were engaged
in restoring the old château to its ancient
splendour. The erstwhile imperial residence, which
had stood empty since the war, now rose again from
its graceful and charming past as though by the
stroke of a fairy's wand. The authorities hastily
collected the most sumptuous remains of the former
furniture now scattered over our museums.
Gradually, the deserted halls and abandoned bed-rooms
were again filled, in the same places, with
the same objects that had adorned them in days
gone by. The apartments set aside for the Tsar
and Tsaritsa were those once occupied by the Emperors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
Napoleon I and Napoleon III and the
Empresses Marie-Louise and Eugénie. As we
passed through them, our eyes were greeted by the
wonderful Beauvais tapestries of which the King
of Prussia, one day, said that "no king's fortune
was large enough to buy them;" we hesitated before
treading on the exquisite Savonnerie carpets, with
which Louis XIV had covered the floors of Versailles;
in the Tsarina's boudoir, we admired Marie-Louise's
cheval-glass; in her bed-room we found
the proud archduchess's four-poster; in Nicholas
II's bed-room, we discovered a relic: the bed of
Napoleon I, the beautifully-carved mahogany bedstead
in which the man whom a great historian
called "that terrible antiquarian" and whom no battle
had wearied, dreamt of the empire of Charlemagne.
Was it not a striking irony of fate that
thus awarded the conqueror's pillow to the first promoter
of peaceful arbitration?</p>
<p>While upholsterers, gardeners, carpenters, locksmiths
and painters were carrying out the amazing
metamorphosis, the ministry was drawing up the
programme of the rejoicings and calling in the aid
of the greatest poets, the most illustrious artists,
the prettiest and most talented ballet-dancers.
Rehearsals were held in the theatre where, years
ago, the Prince Imperial had made his first appearance;
the carriages were tested in the avenues<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
of the park; a swarm of butlers and footmen
were taught court etiquette in the servants' hall;
and certain ministers' wives, trusting to the discreet
solitude of their boudoirs, took lessons in
solemn curtseying. It was so many days and
weeks of feverish expectation, during which everything
had to be improvised for the occasion; for
this was the first time since its advent that the
Republic was entertaining in the country.</p>
<p>And then the great day came. One morning, on
the platform of the Gare du Nord, a gentleman
dressed in black, with beard neatly-trimmed, followed
by ministers, generals and more persons in
black, including myself, stepped into a special
train. He had been preceded by a valet carrying
three bags. The first—is it not a detective's duty
to know everything?—was a dressing-case containing
crystal, silver-topped fittings; the second, which
was long and flat, held six white shirts, twelve collars,
three night-shirts, a pair of slippers and two
broad grand-cross ribbons, one red, the other blue;
and in the third were packed a brand-new dress-suit,
six pairs of white gloves and three pairs of
patent-leather boots. M. Loubet, calm and smiling,
was starting for Dunkerque to meet his guests.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p>
<h3 class="p2">3.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">My first impression of the young sovereigns was
very different from that which I expected. To
judge by the fantastic measures taken in anticipation
of their arrival and by the atmosphere of suspicion
and mystery which people had been pleased
to create around them, we were tempted to picture
them as grave, solemn, haughty, mystical and distrustful;
and our thoughts turned, in spite of ourselves
to the court of Ivan the Terrible rather than
to that of Peter the Great.</p>
<p>Then, suddenly, the impression was changed.
When we saw them close at hand, we beheld a very
united couple, very simple and kindly, anxious to
please everybody and to fall in with everybody's
wishes, obviously hating official pomp and ceremony
and regretting to be continually separated
by impenetrable barriers from the rest of the world.
We perceived that they liked to be unreserved, that
they were capable of "soulful outbursts" and of
endless delicacy of thought, especially for their
humbler fellow-citizens. We detected in the
laughter in <i>his</i> eyes a frank and youthful gaiety
that disliked restraint; and we suspected in the
melancholy of <i>hers</i> the secret tragedy of an ever-anxious
affection, of a destiny weighed down by
the burden of a crown in which there were all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>
too many thorns and too few roses. And I confess,
at the risk of being anathematised by our
fierce democrats, that autocracy, as personified by
this young couple, who would clearly have been
happier between a samovar and a cradle than between
a double row of bayonets, that autocracy,
under this unexpected aspect, possessed nothing
very terrifying and even presented a certain
charm.</p>
<p>I think, besides, that an erroneous opinion has
been generally formed of the Tsar's character. He
has been said and is still said to be a weak man.
Now I should be inclined, on this point, to think
with M. Loubet that Nicholas II's "weakness" is
more apparent than real and that in him, as formerly
in our Napoleon III, there is "a gentle obstinate"
who has very strong ideas of his own, a
being conscious of his power and proud of the glory
of his name.</p>
<p class="b1">Nicholas II, at the time of his second visit to
France, had met M. Loubet before. When the
Emperor first came to France, in 1896, the future
President of the Republic was president of the
Senate and, in this capacity, had not only been presented
to the sovereign, but received a visit from
him. In this connexion, the late M. Félix Faure
used to tell an amusing story, which he said that he
had from the Tsar in person.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-177.jpg" width="400" height="230"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">THE EMPRESS OF RUSSIA AND THE GRAND DUCHESS MARIE</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">It was after a luncheon at the Élysée. Nicholas
II had told President Faure that he would like to
call on the president of the Senate and expressed
a wish to go to the Palais du Luxembourg, if possible,
<i>incognito</i>. A landau was at once provided,
without an escort; and the Emperor stepped in,
accompanied by General de Boisdeffre. At that
hour, the peaceful Luxembourg quarter was almost
deserted. The people in the streets, expecting the
Tsar to drive back from the Russian Embassy, had
drifted in that direction to cheer him.</p>
<p>Wishing first to find out if M. Loubet was there,
General de Boisdeffre had ordered the coachman
to stop a few yards from the palace, opposite the
gate of the Luxembourg gardens. He then
alighted to go and enquire and to tell the president
of the Senate that an august visitor was waiting at
his door.</p>
<p>The Tsar, left alone in the carriage and delighted
at feeling free and at his ease, looked out of the
window with all the zest of a schoolboy playing
truant. He saw before him one of those picturesque
street-Arabs, who seem to sprout between the
paving-stones of Paris. This particular specimen,
seated against the railings, was whistling the refrain
of the Russian national hymn, with his nose in the
air. Suddenly, their eyes met. The wondering
street-boy sprang to his feet; he had never seen the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>
Emperor, but he had seen his photographs; and the
likeness was striking.</p>
<p>"Suppose it is Nicholas?" he said to himself,
greatly puzzled.</p>
<p>And, as he was an inquisitive lad, he resolved to
make sure without delay. He took an heroic decision,
walked up to within a yard of the carriage
and there, bobbing down his head, shouted in a
hoarse voice to the unknown foreigner:</p>
<p>"How's the Empress?"</p>
<p>Picture his stupefaction—for, in point of fact, he
only thought that he was having a good joke—when
he heard the stranger reply, with a smile:</p>
<p>"Thank you, the Empress is very well and is
delighted with her journey."</p>
<p>The boy, then and there, lost his tongue. He
stared at the speaker in dismay; and then, after
raising his cap, stalked away slowly, very slowly,
to mark his dignity.</p>
<p>Nicholas II retained a delightful recollection of
this private interview with a true Parisian and long
amused himself by scandalising the formal set
around him with the story of this adventure.</p>
<h3 class="p2">4.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">If, on his second stay, he did not have the occasion
of coming into contact with the people, he none<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
the less enjoyed the satisfaction of being admirably
received.</p>
<p>The episodes of the first day of this memorable
visit, from the moment when, on the deck of the
<i>Standart</i>, lying off Dunkerque, the sovereigns, as
is customary whenever they leave their yacht, received
the salute of the sailors and the blessing of
the old priest in his violet cassock: these episodes
have been too faithfully chronicled in the press for
me to linger over them here. It was a magnificent
landing, amid the thunder of the guns and the
hurrahs of the enthusiastic populace. Then came
the journey from Dunkerque to Compiègne, a real
triumphal progress, in which the cheers along the
line seemed to travel almost as fast as the train,
for they were linked from town to town, from village
to village, from farm to farm. At last came
the arrival, at nightfall, in the little illuminated
town, followed by the torch-light procession, in
which the fantastic figure of the red cossack
stood out, as he clung to the back of the Empress's
carriage; the entrance into the courtyard
of the château all ablaze with light; the slow
ascent of the staircases lined with cuirassiers, standing
immovable, with drawn swords, and powdered
footmen, in blue liveries <i>à la française</i>,<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> and, lastly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>
the presentations, enlivened, at a certain moment
by the artless question which a minister's wife, in
a great state of excitement and anxious to please
addressed to the Empress:</p>
<p>"How are your little ones?"</p>
<h3 class="p2">5.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">Although from the time of leaving Dunkerque, I
had taken up my duties, which, as the reader knows,
consisted more particularly in ensuring the personal
safety of the Empress, I had as yet only
caught a glimpse of that gracious lady. A few
hours after our arrival at the château, chance made
me come across her and she deigned to speak to
me. I doubt whether she observed my state of
flurry; and yet, that evening, without knowing it,
she was the cause of a strange hallucination of my
mind.</p>
<p>I had left the procession at the entrance to the
drawing-rooms, in order to go and ascertain if our
orders had been faithfully carried out in and
around the imperial apartments. Gradually, as I
penetrated into the maze of long silent corridors,
filled with my own officers, impassive in their footmen's
liveries, a crowd of confused memories rose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
in my brain. I remembered a certain evening,
similar to the present, when the palace was all lit
up for a celebration. I, at that time, still a young
student, had come to see my kinsman, Dr. Conneau,
physician to the Emperor Napoleon III. We
went along the same corridors together, when, suddenly
holding me back by the sleeve and pointing
to a proud and radiant, fair-haired figure which at
that moment passed through the vivid brightness of
a distant gallery, he said:</p>
<p>"The Empress!"</p>
<p>Now, at the same spot, forty years after, another
voice, that of one of my inspectors, came and whispered
in my ear:</p>
<p>"The Empress!"</p>
<p>I started; in front of me, at the end of the gallery,
a figure, also radiant and also fair, had suddenly
come into view. Was it a dream, a fairy-tale?
No, there was another empress, that was all;
in the same frame in which, as a boy, I had first
set eyes upon the Empress Eugénie, I now saw the
Empress Alexandra coming towards me. I was
so much taken aback that, at first, I stood rooted
to the spot, seeking to recover my presence of mind.
She continued her progress, proceeding to her
apartments followed by her ladies-in-waiting.
When she was at a few yards from the place where
I stood motionless, her eyes fell upon me; then she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>
came up to me and, holding out her white and slender
hand:</p>
<p>"I am glad to see you, M. Paoli," she said, "for
I know how highly my dear grandmother, Queen
Victoria, used to think of you."</p>
<p>What she did not know was how often Queen
Victoria had spoken of her to me. That great
sovereign, in fact, cherished a special affection for
the child of her idolised daughter, the Grand-duchess
Alice of Hesse. The child reminded her
of the happy time when the princess wrote to her
from Darmstadt, on the day after the birth of the
future Empress of Russia:</p>
<p class="pq p1">"She is the personification of her nickname, 'Sunny,'
much like Ella, but a smaller head, and livelier, with
Ernie's dimple and expression."</p>
<p class="p1">Then, a few days later:</p>
<p class="pq p1">"We think of calling her Alix (Alice they pronounce
too dreadfully in Germany) Helena Louisa Beatrice; and,
if Beatrice may, we would like her to have her for godmother."</p>
<p class="p1">And these letters, so pretty, so touching, continued
through the years that followed. The baby
had grown into a little girl, the little girl into a
young girl; and her mother kept Queen Victoria
informed of the least details concerning the child.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
She was anxious, fond and proud by turns; and
she asked for advice over and over again:</p>
<p class="pq p1">"I strive to bring her up totally free from pride of her
position, which is nothing save what her personal merit
can make it. I feel so entirely as you do on the difference
of rank and how all important it is for Princes and
Princesses to know that they are nothing better or above
others save through their own merit and that they have
only the double duty of living for others and of being an
example, good and modest."</p>
<p class="p1">Next come more charming details. Princess
Alice, returning to her children at Darmstadt after
a visit to England, writes to the Queen:</p>
<p class="pq p1">"They eat me up! They had made wreaths over the
doors and had no end of things to tell me....</p>
<p class="pq">"We arrived at three and there was not a moment's
rest till they were all in bed and I had heard the different
prayers of the six, with all the different confidences they
had to make."</p>
<p class="p1">Elsewhere, interesting particulars about the education
of Princess Alix, an exclusively English
education, very simple and very healthy, the programme
of which included every form of physical
exercise, such as bicycling, skating, tennis and riding,
and allowed her, by way of pocket-money, 50
pfennigs a week between the ages of 4 and 8; 1
mark from 8 to 12; and 2 marks from 12 to 16
years.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p>
<p>In the twenty-nine years that had passed since
the first of these letters was written, what a number
of events had occurred!</p>
<p>Princess Alice, that admirable mother, had died
from giving a kiss to her son Ernie, when he was
suffering from diphtheria; the royal grandmother,
in her turn, had died quite recently. Of the seven
children whose gaiety brightened the domestic
charm of the little court at Darmstadt, two had
perished in a tragic fashion: Prince Fritz, first,
killed by an accidental fall from a window, while
playing with his brother; and Princess May, carried
off in twenty-four hours, she, too, by diphtheria
caught at the bedside of her sister "Aliky,"
the present Empress of Russia. As for the other
"dear little ones," as Queen Victoria called them,
they had all been dispersed by fate. "Ella" had
become the Grand-duchess Serge of Russia; "Enric"
had succeeded his father on the throne of
Hesse; two of his sisters had married, one Prince
Henry of Prussia, the other Prince Louis of Battenberg;
and the last had become the wearer of the
heaviest of all crowns. And now chance placed her
here, before me.</p>
<p>I looked at her with, in my mind, the memory
of all the letters which an august and kindly condescension
had permitted me to read and of the
gentle emotion with which the good and great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
Queen used to speak of the Princess Alice and of
her daughter, the present Empress of Russia.
Her features had not yet acquired, under the imperial
diadem, that settled air of melancholy which
the obsession of a perpetual danger was to give her
later; in the brilliancy of her full-blown youth,
which set a gladsome pride upon the tall, straight
forehead; in the golden sheen of her queenly hair;
in her grave and limpid blue eyes, through which
shot gleams of sprightliness; in her smile, still
marked by the dimples of her girlish days, I recognised
her to whom the fond imagination of a justly-proud
mother had awarded, in her cradle, the pretty
nickname of "Sunny."</p>
<p>She stopped before me for a few moments. Before
moving away, she said:</p>
<p>"I believe you are commissioned to 'look after'
me?"</p>
<p>"That is so," I replied.</p>
<p>"I hope," she added, laughing, "that I shall not
give you too much worry."</p>
<p>I dared not confess to her that it was not only
worry, but perpetual anguish that her presence and
the Tsar's were causing me.</p>
<h3 class="p2">6.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">We had to be continually on the watch, to have
safe men at every door, in every passage, on every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
floor; we had to superintend the least details. I
remember, for instance, standing by for nearly two
hours while the Empress's dresses were being unpacked,
so great was our fear lest a disguised bomb
might be slipped into one of the sovereign's numerous
trunks, while the women were arranging the
gowns in the special presses and cupboards intended
for them. Lastly, day and night, we had to go on
constant rounds, both inside and outside the
château.</p>
<p>On the occasion of one of these minute investigations,
I met with a rather interesting adventure.
Not far from the apartments reserved for the Empress
Alexandra's ladies was an unoccupied room,
the door of which was locked. It appeared that,
during the Empire, this room had been used by
Madame Bruant, the Prince Imperial's governess,
wife of Admiral Bruant. At a time when every
apartment in the château was thrown open for the
visit of our imperial guests, why did this one alone
remain closed? I was unable to say. In any case,
my duty obliged me to leave no corner unexplored;
and, on the first evening, I sent for a bunch of
keys. After a few ineffectual attempts, the lock
yielded, the door opened ... and imagine
my bewilderment! In a charming disorder, tin
soldiers, dancing dolls, rocking horses and beautiful
picture-books lay higgledy-piggledy in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
middle of the room, around a great, big, ugly
plush bear!</p>
<p>I enquired and found that they were the Prince
Imperial's toys: they had been left there and forgotten
for thirty years. And an interesting coincidence
was that the big bear was the last present
made by the Tsar Alexander II to the little prince.</p>
<p>I softly closed the door which I had opened upon
the past; I resolved to respect those playthings;
there are memories which it is better not to awaken.</p>
<p>The next morning chance allowed me to assist at
a sight which many a photographer would have
been glad to "snap." The Tsar and Tsaritsa, who
are both very early risers, had gone down to the
garden, accompanied by their great greyhound,
which answered to the name of Lofki. The Tsar
was expected to go shooting that morning, in anticipation
of which intention the keepers had spent
the night in filling the park with pheasants, deer
and hares. Their labours were wasted; Nicholas
II preferred to stroll round the lawns with the Empress.
She was bare-headed and had simply put
up a parasol against the sun, which was of dazzling
brightness; she carried a camera slung over her
shoulder. The young couple, whom I followed
hidden behind a shrubbery, turned their steps towards
the covered walk of hornbeams which Napoleon
I had had made for Marie-Louise, hoping,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
no doubt, to find in the shade of this beautiful leafy
vault, which autumn was already decking with its
copper hues, a discreet solitude suited to the billing
and cooing of the pair of lovers that they were.
But the departments of public ceremony and public
safety were on the lookout; already, inside the
bosky tunnel, fifty soldiers commanded by a lieutenant,
were presenting arms!</p>
<p>The sovereigns had to make the best of a bad
job. The Emperor reviewed the men with a serious
face and the Empress photographed them and
promised to send the lieutenant a print as soon as
the plate was developed. Thereupon the Tsar and
Tsaritsa walked away in a different direction. A
charming little wood appeared before their eyes.
Lofki was running ahead of them. Suddenly, a
furious barking was heard; and four gendarmes
emerged from behind a clump of fir-trees and, presenting
arms, gave the military salute!</p>
<p>There was nothing to be done and the sovereigns
gaily accepted the situation. With a merry burst
of laughter, they turned on their heels and resolved
to go back to the château. By way of consolation,
the Tsaritsa amused herself by photographing her
husband, who, in his turn, took a snapshot of his
wife.</p>
<p>They showed no bitterness on account of the disappointment
which their walk must have caused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>
them. In fact, to anybody who asked him, on his
return, if he had enjoyed his stroll, Nicholas II
contented himself with saving:</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, the grounds are beautiful; and I now
know what you mean by 'a well-cared-for property'!"</p>
<h3 class="p2">7.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">While life was being arranged in the great palace
and everyone settling down as if he were to stay
there for a month instead of three days; while the
head of the kitchens, acting under the inspiration of
the head of the ceremonial department, was cudgelling
his brains to bring his menus into harmony with
politics by introducing subtle alliances of French
and Russian dishes; while the musicians were tuning
their violins for the "gala" concert of the evening
and Mme. Bartet, that divine actress, preparing
to utter, in her entrancing voice, M. Edmund
Rostand's famous lines beginning, "Oh! Oh! <i>Voici
une impératrice!</i>"<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> while the Tsaritsa, at first a little
lost amid these new surroundings, found a friend
in the Marquise de Montebello, our agreeable ambassadress
in St. Petersburg, of whom people used
to say that she justified Turgenev's epigram when
he declared that, wherever you see a Frenchwoman,
you see all France; while the most complete serenity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
seemed to reign among the inhabitants of the château,
a solemn question was stirring all men's minds.
Would the Tsar go to Paris? As it was, the people
of Paris were disappointed because the reception
had not been held in the capital, as in 1896; would
he give it the compensation of a few hours' visit?
A special train was awaiting, with steam up, in the
station at Compiègne; long confabulations took
place between the Emperor and M. Waldeck-Rousseau;
a luncheon was prepared at the Élysée with
a view to the entertainment of an illustrious guest;
secret orders were given to the police. In short,
nobody doubted that Nicholas II intended to carry
out a plan which everybody ascribed to him.</p>
<p>Nothing came of it. The Tsar did not go to
Paris.</p>
<p>This sudden change of purpose was interpreted
in different ways. Some people pretended that the
prime minister was at the bottom of it, M. Waldeck-Rousseau
having declared that he could not
answer for the Emperor's safety in view of the inadequate
nature of the preparations. In reality,
we never learnt the true reasons; and I have often
asked myself whether this regrettable decision
should not be attributed to the influence of
"Philippe."</p>
<p>Who was "Philippe"? A strange, disconcerting
being, who had something of the quack about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>
him and something of the prophet and who followed
the Tsar like a shadow.</p>
<p>His story was an astounding one from start to
finish. He was a native of Lyons—a Frenchman,
therefore—who pretended, with the assistance of
mystical practices and of inner voices which he summoned
forth and consulted, to be able to cure
maladies, to forestall dangers, to foresee future
events. He gave consultations and wrote prescriptions,
for he did not reject the aid of science.
And, as he came within the law which forbids the
illegal practice of medicine, he hit upon the obvious
expedient of marrying his daughter to a doctor, who
acted as his man of straw. His waiting-room was
never empty from the day when the Grand-duke
Nicholas Michaelovitch, chancing to pass through
Lyons and to hear of this mysterious personage,
thought that he would consult him about his rheumatism.
What happened? This much is certain,
that the grand-duke, on returning to Russia, declared
that Philippe had cured him as though by
magic and that he possessed the power not only of
driving out pain, but of securing the fulfilment of
every wish. The Emperor, at that time, was longing
for an heir. Greatly impressed by his cousin's
stories and by his profound conviction, he resolved
to summon the miracle-monger to St. Petersburg.
This laid the foundation of Philippe's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>
fortunes. Admirably served by his lucky star,
highly intelligent, gifted with the manners of an
apostle and an appearance of absolute disinterestedness,
he gradually succeeded in acquiring a considerable
hold not only on the imperial family, but
on the whole court. People began to believe very
seriously in his supernatural powers. Made much
of and respected, he had free access to the sovereigns
and ended by supplanting both doctors and advisers.
He also treated cases at a distance, by auto-suggestion.
Whenever he obtained leave to go home
on a visit, he kept up with his illustrious clients an
exchange of telegrams that would tend to make us
smile, if they did not stupefy us at the thought of
so much credulity. Thus, a given person of quality
would wire:</p>
<p>"Suffering violent pains head entreat give
relief."</p>
<p>Whereupon Philippe would at once reply:</p>
<p>"Have concentrated thought on pain; expect cure
between this and five o'clock to-morrow."</p>
<p>This is not an invention: I have seen the telegrams.</p>
<p>For people to have so blind a faith in his mediation,
he must obviously have effected a certain
number of cures. As a matter of fact, I believe that
the power of the will is such that, in certain affections
which depended partly upon the nervous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
system, he succeeded in suggesting to a patient that
he was not and could not be ill.</p>
<p>However, what was bound to happen, happened.
His star declined from the day when people became
persuaded that he was not infallible. The
Tsar's set precipitated his disgrace when the
Tsaritsa brought another daughter into the world,
instead of the promised son. One fine day,
Philippe went back to Lyons for good; he died
there a few years ago. And, in the following year,
the mighty empire had an heir!</p>
<p>At the time of the visit of the sovereigns to Compiègne,
he was still at the height of his favour. He
accompanied our imperial hosts; and his presence
at the château surprised us as much as anything.
In fact, like the Doge of Venice who came to Versailles
under Louis XIV, he himself might have
said:</p>
<p>"What astonishes me most is to see myself
here!"</p>
<p>But Philippe was astonished at nothing. Anxious
to retain his personality in the midst of that
gold-laced crowd, he walked about the apartments
in a grey suit and brown shoes; on the first day, he
was within an ace of being arrested; we took him
for an anarchist!</p>
<p>Our extreme distrust, to which the unfortunate
Philippe nearly fell a victim, was only too well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
justified. I believe that I am not guilty of an indiscretion—for
the memorable events of 1901 are
now a matter of history—when I say to-day that
there was an attempt, an attempt of which our
guests never heard, because a miraculous accident
enabled us to defeat its execution in the nick of
time.</p>
<p>It was in the cathedral of Rheims that the
criminal effort was to be accomplished during the
visit of the sovereigns, who had expressed a desire
to see the inside of that exquisite fabric. On learning
of Their Majesties' intention, our colleagues
of the Russian police displayed the greatest nervousness:</p>
<p>"Nothing could be easier," they told us, a few
days before the visit, "than for a Terrorist to deposit
a bomb in some dark place, under a chair,
behind a confessional, or at the foot of a statue.
The interior of the cathedral must be watched from
this moment, together with the people who enter it."</p>
<p>Although we had already thought of this, they
decided, on their part, to entrust this task to an
"informer"—in other words, a spy—of Belgian
nationality, who had joined the Russian detective-service.
Hennion, who was always prudent,
hastened, in his turn, to set a watch on the "informer."
Twenty-four hours later, one of his men
came to see him in a great state of fright:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p>
<p>"M. Hennion," he said, "I have obtained proof
that the 'informer' is connected with a gang of
Terrorists. They are preparing an attack in the
cathedral!"</p>
<p>Hennion did not hesitate for a moment. He
hastened to Rheims, instituted a police-search in
a room which the "informer" had secretly hired
under a false name and seized a correspondence
which left no doubt whatever as to the existence of
the plot. The "informer" himself was to do the
dirty work!</p>
<p>He was at once arrested and pressed with questions:</p>
<p>"I swear that I know nothing about it," he exclaimed,
"and that's the plain truth!"</p>
<p>"Very well," said Hennion, who held absolute
proof. "Take this man to prison," he ordered,
"since he's telling the truth, and drag him back to
me when he decides to tell a lie."</p>
<p>The next day, the man confessed.</p>
<p>This was the only tragic episode that occurred
during the imperial visit. Nevertheless, in spite of
the satisfaction which we had felt at receiving the
Tsar and Tsaritsa, we heaved a sigh of relief when,
on the following day, we saw the train that was to
take them back to Russia steam out of the station.</p>
<p>They were still alive, God be praised! But that
was almost more than could be said of us!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a><br /><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a><br /><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">V</h2>
<p class="pn center p2 large">THE KING AND QUEEN OF ITALY</p>
<h3 class="p2">1.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">I have always harboured a vagrant spirit
under my official frock-coat. I find my
pleasure and my rest in travelling. I, therefore,
took advantage of a few weeks' leave of absence,
allowed me after the departure of the Russian
sovereigns, to pay a visit to Italy.</p>
<p>A few days after my arrival at Milan, I was
strolling, one afternoon, on the well-known Galleria
Vittorio Emmanuele, that favourite Milanese
and cosmopolitan resort, whose incessant and
picturesque animation presages the gaiety, if not
the charm of Italy, when the window of a glove-shop
caught my eye and reminded me that I had
left my gloves in the railway-carriage. I thought
I might as well buy myself a new pair; and I
entered the shop. A customer had gone in before
me. It was a lady, young, tall and slender, quietly
but elegantly dressed in a plain, dark travelling-frock.
Through the long blue motor-veil that close-shrouded
her face and even her hat, a pair of eyes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>
gleamed, black and, as I thought, large and beautiful;
her hair was dark and, as far as I could see,
she had masses of it; the face seemed refined and
pretty. Leaning on the counter, she tried on the
gloves which a young shop-assistant handed to her.
None of them fitted her.</p>
<p>"They are too large," she said, shyly.</p>
<p>"That is because the signora has so small a hand,"
replied the young assistant, gallantly.</p>
<p>She smiled and did not answer; the elderly lady
who was with her gave the youth an indignant and
scandalised glance. After patiently allowing the
measure to be taken of her hand, open and closed—it
was indeed a very small one—she ended by finding
two pairs of gloves to suit her, paid for them
and went out.</p>
<p>Just then, the owner of the shop returned. He
looked at the lady, gave a bewildered start, bowed
very low and, as soon as she was gone, shouted to
his assistant:</p>
<p>"Have you the least idea whom you have been
serving?"</p>
<p>"A very pretty woman, I know that!"</p>
<p>"Idiot! It was the Queen!"</p>
<p>The Queen! It was my turn to feel bewildered.
The Queen, alone, unprotected, in that arcade full
of people! I was on the point of following her,
from professional habit, forgetting that I was at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
Milan not as an official, but as a private tourist.
A still more important reason stopped my display
of zeal: it was too late; the charming vision was
lost in the crowd.</p>
<h3 class="p2">2.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">The next evening, I was dining at a friend's
house, where the guests belonged, for the most part,
to the official and political world. When I related
my adventure and expressed my astonishment at
having met the sovereign making her own purchases
in town, accompanied by a stern lady-in-waiting:</p>
<p>"Did that surprise you?" I was asked. "It does
not surprise us at all. One of our haughty princesses
of the House of Savoy said, sarcastically, that
we had gone back to the times when kings used to
mate with shepherdesses. This was merely a disrespectful
sally. The truth is that both our King
and Queen have very simple tastes and that they
like to live as ordinary people, in so far as their
obligations permit them. Let me give you an instance
in point; whenever they come to Milan—and
they never stay for more than two or three
days—they go to the royal palace, of course, but,
instead of living in the state apartments and bringing
a large number of servants, they prefer to occupy
just a few rooms, have their meals sent in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
from the Ristorante Cova and order the dishes to
be all brought up at the same time and placed on
a sideboard. Then they dismiss the servants, shut
the doors and wait upon themselves."</p>
<p>In our sunny countries—I can speak for them, as
a Corsican—we love pomp and ceremony. I
seemed to observe in the friends who gave me this
striking illustration of the royal simplicity a touch
of bitterness, perhaps of regret. Remarks that
came to my ears later led me to the conclusion that
the aristocracy, if not the people, disapproved of
their sovereign's democratic tendencies, which contrasted
with the ways of the old court, of which
Queen Margherita had been the soul and still remained
the living and charming embodiment.</p>
<p>No doubt. Queen Helena's "manner" was entirely
different from that of Margherita of Savoy,
whose highly-developed and refined culture, whose
apposite wit, whose engaging mode of address,
built up of shades that appealed to delicate minds,
had attracted to the Quirinal the pick of intellectual,
artistic and literary Italy and held it bound in
fervent admiration. Educated at the court of her
father, Prince Nicholas, Helena of Montenegro
had grown up amid the austere scenery of her
native land, in constant contact with the rugged
simplicity of the Montenegrin highlanders; her
wide-open child-eyes had never rested on other than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>
grave and manly faces; her girlhood was decked
not with fairy-tales, but with the old, wild legends
of the mountains, or else, with epics extolling the
heroism of those who, in the days of old, had driven
the foreign invader from the valleys of Antivari or
the lofty plateaux of Cetinje. At the age of
twelve, she was sent to St. Petersburg to finish her
studies. There, in the promiscuous intercourse of
a convent confined to young ladies of gentle birth,
she had known the charm of friendships that removed
all differences of social rank between her
fellow schoolgirls and herself, while her mind
opened to the somewhat melancholy beauties of Slav
literature. On returning to her country, she enjoyed,
in the fulness of an independence wholly undisturbed
by the demand of etiquette, the healthy
delights of an open-air life, which she divided between
water-colour drawing, in which she excelled,
and sport in which she showed herself fearless.</p>
<p>When, therefore, she saw Italy for the first time
in 1895 and saw it through the gates of Venice,
where her father had taken her on the occasion of
an exhibition; when, one evening, in the midst of the
fanciful and to her novel scene of the lagoon arrayed
in its holiday attire, she saw the homage
of a glowing admiration in the eyes of the then
Prince of Naples, it will readily be conceived that
she was flurried and a little dazzled. When, lastly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
in the following year, she bade farewell to her
craggy mountains and to the proud highlanders, the
companions of her childhood, and saw the gay and
enthusiastic nation of Italy hastening to welcome
her, the twenty-years-old bride, with the hopes and
promises which she brought with her, it will be
understood that she at first experienced a sense of
confusion and shyness.</p>
<p>The shyness, I am told, has never completely worn
off. On the other hand, in the absence of more
brilliant outward qualities, Queen Helena has displayed
admirable domestic virtues; she has known
how to be a queen in all that this function implies
in regard to noble and delicate missions of devotion
and goodness to the poor and lowly. And she has
done better than that: she has realised her engrossing
duties as wife and mother; and they are sweet
and dear to her.</p>
<p>Had this been otherwise, the King's character,
which is quick to take offence, and his jealous fondness
would have suffered cruelly. He too is shy,
he too is a man of domestic habits, who has always
avoided society and pleasure. Possessing none of
the physical qualities that attract the crowd, endowed
with an unimaginative, but, on the other
hand, a reflective and studious mind, remarkably
well-informed, highly-intelligent, passionately
enamoured of social problems and the exact<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
sciences, none was readier than he to enjoy the
charm of a peaceful home which he had not known
during his youth. Touching, in fact, though the
attachment between the son and mother was, they
nevertheless remained separated by the differences
in their character, their temperament and their
ideas. Whereas Queen Margherita kept all her enthusiasm
for art and literature, the Prince of Naples
displayed, if not a repugnance, at least a complete
indifference to such matters. When he was only
ten years of age, he said to his piano-mistress,
Signora Cerasoli, who was appointed by his mother
and who vainly struggled to instil the first principles
of music into his mind:</p>
<p>"Don't you think that twenty trumpets are more
effective than that piano of yours?"</p>
<p>To make amends, he showed from his earliest
youth a marked predilection for military science.
He had the soul of a soldier and submitted, without
a murmur, to the strict discipline imposed upon him
by his tutor, Colonel Osio. He is still fond of relating,
as one of the pleasantest memories of his
life, the impression which he felt on the day when
King Humbert first entrusted him with the command
of a company of foot at the annual review
of the Roman garrison:</p>
<p>"The excitement interfered so greatly with my
power of sight," he says, "that the only people I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>
recognised in the cheering crowd were my dentist
and my professor of mathematics."</p>
<p>His keen love of the army became manifest when,
as heir apparent, he received the command of the
army-corps of Naples. Frivolous and light-headed
Neapolitan society looked forward to receiving a
worldly-minded prince and rejoiced accordingly;
but it soon discovered its mistake; the prince, scorning
pleasure, devoted himself exclusively to his profession
and left his barracks only to go straight back
to the Capodimonte Palace, where he spent his spare
time in perfecting himself in the study of military
tactics.</p>
<p>When, at last, the tragedy of Monza called him
suddenly to the throne, the manliness of his attitude,
the firmness of his character and the soberness
of his mind impressed the uneasy and scattered
world of politics. He insisted upon drawing up his
first proclamation to the Italian people with his own
hand and in it proved himself a man of the times,
thoroughly acquainted with the needs and aspirations
of modern Italy.</p>
<p>"I know," he said to Signor Crispi, a few days
after his accession, "I know all the responsibilities of
my station and I would not presume to think that I
can remedy the present difficulties with my own unaided
strength. But I am convinced that those difficulties
all spring from one cause. In Italy, there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>
are few citizens who perform their duty strictly:
there is too much indolence, too much laxity.
Italy is at a serious turning-point in her history;
she is eaten up with politics; she must absolutely
direct her energies towards the development of her
economic resources. Her industries will save her
by improving her financial position and employing
all the hands at present lying idle in an inactivity
that has lasted far too long. I shall practise what I
preach by scrupulously following my trade as king
and by encouraging initiative, especially by encouraging
the social and economic evolution of the
country."</p>
<p>Let me do him this justice: he has kept his
promises. A will soon made itself conspicuous
under that frail exterior. He applied to the consideration
of every subject the ardour of an insatiable
curiosity and his wish to know things correctly
and thoroughly. He studied the confused
conditions of Italian parliamentary life with as
much perseverance as the social question. It is
possible that, by democratising the monarchy, he has
forestalled popular movements which, in a country
so passionate in its opinions and so exuberant in its
manifestations as Italy, might have caused irreparable
disorders and delayed the magnificent progress
of the nation.</p>
<p>Pondering over these serious problems, his vigilant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>
and studious mind sought relaxation and, at
times, consolation and encouragement for its rough
task in the ever-smiling intimacy of the home. It
resolved that this home should be impenetrable to
others, so impenetrable that it excluded the
sovereign and <i>à fortiori</i> his official "set": the
husband and father alone are admitted. This is
the secret of that close union which has made people
say of the Italian royal couple that they represent
the perfect type of a middle-class household which
found its way by accident into a king's palace.</p>
<p>I have tried to give a psychological picture of
the two sovereigns arising from the impressions
which I picked up in the course of my trip to Italy.
Their visit to Paris was destined to confirm its accuracy
and to complete its details.</p>
<h3 class="p2">3.</h3>
<p class="pn p1 b1">I little thought, on the afternoon when I caught
so unexpected a glimpse of Queen Helena in a
Milan glove-shop, that, two years later, I was to
have the honour of attending both Her Majesty
and the King during their journey to France. It
was their first visit to Paris in state; and our government
attached considerable importance to this
event, which accentuated the scope of what Prince
von Bülow, at that time chancellor of the German
Empire, called, none too good-humouredly, Italy's
"little waltz" with France.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-212.jpg" width="400" height="283"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">THE KING AND QUEEN OF ITALY</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">The letter of appointment which I received at the
beginning of October, 1903, directed me to go at
once and await our guests at the Italian frontier and
bring them safely to Paris. It was pitch-dark,
on a cold, wet night, when the royal train steamed
out of the Mont-Cenis tunnel and pulled up at the
platform of the frontier-station of Modany where
I had been pacing up and down for over an hour.
My curiosity was stimulated, I must confess, by the
recollection of the episode in the Galleria Vittorio
Emmanuele at Milan. Amused by the chance
which was about to bring me face to face with "the
lady with the gloves," I was longing to know if my
first impressions were correct and if the features
which I had conjectured, rather than perceived, behind
the blue veil were really those which I should
soon be able to view in the full light.</p>
<p>The blinds of the eight royal railway-carriages
were lowered; not a sign betrayed the presence of
living beings in the silent train.</p>
<p>After a long moment, a carriage-door opened
and a giant, in a long pale-grey cavalry cloak and a
blue forage-cap braided with scarlet piping and
adorned with a gold tassel, stepped out softly and,
making straight for me, said:</p>
<p>"Hush! They are asleep."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p>
<p>It was two o'clock in the morning. The first official
reception had been arranged to take place at
Dijon, where we were due to arrive at nine o'clock.
I took my seat in the train and we started. Not
everybody was asleep. In the last carriage, which
was reserved for the servants, a number of maids,
wrapped in those beautiful red shawls which you see
on the quays at Naples, were chattering away, with
the greatest animation, in Italian. The echoes of
that musical and expressive language reached the
compartment in which I was trying to doze and
called up memories of my childhood in my old
Corsican heart.</p>
<p>It was broad daylight and we were nearing Dijon
when Count Guicciardini, the King's master of the
horse, came to fetch me to present me to the
sovereigns.</p>
<p>Two black, grave, proud and gentle eyes; a forehead
framed in a wealth of dark hair; beautiful and
delicate features; a smile that produced two little
dimples on either side of the mouth; a tall, slight
figure; I at once recognised the lady of Milan in
the charming sovereign, stately and shy, who came
stepping towards me. It was the same little white
hand that she put out again, this time, however, that
I might press upon it the homage of my respectful
welcome. Should I recall the incident of the
gloves? I had it on my lips to do so. I was afraid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
of appearing ridiculous; of course, she did not remember.
I said nothing.</p>
<p>"Delighted, M. Paoli, delighted to know you!"
exclaimed the King, fixing me with his piercing
eyes and shaking me vigorously by the hand.</p>
<p>"Sir."</p>
<p>"But stay; Paoli is an Italian name!"</p>
<p>"Very nearly, Sir; I am a Corsican."</p>
<p>"A fellow-countryman of Napoleon's, then? I
congratulate you!"</p>
<p>Our conversation, that morning, was limited to
these few words. From Dijon onwards, the
journey assumed an official character; and I lost
sight of the King and Queen amid the crowd of
glittering uniforms. However, a few minutes before
our arrival at Paris, I surprised them both
standing against a window-pane, the Queen in an
exquisite costume of pale-grey velvet and silk, the
King in the uniform of an Italian general, with the
broad ribbon of the Legion of Honour across his
chest. While watching the landscape, they exchanged
remarks that appeared to me to be of an
affectionate nature.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, a sedate footman entered and discreetly
placed upon the table, behind the sovereigns,
an extraordinary object that attracted my eyes.
It looked like an enormous bird buried in its
feathers; it was at one and the same time resplendent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>
and voluminous. I came closer and then saw
that it was a helmet, just a helmet, covered with
feathers of fabulous dimensions. I was not the
only one, for that matter, to be astonished at the
imposing proportions of this head-dress; whenever
the King donned it in Paris, it met with a huge success;
it towered above the crowds, the livery-servants'
cockades, the soldiers' bayonets; it became
the target of every kodak.</p>
<p>The Queen's shyness? The occasion soon offered
to observe it; in fact, that solemn entry into
Paris was enough to make any young woman,
queen or no queen, shy. The authorities wished it
to be as grand as possible and sent the procession
down the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne and
the Champs-Élysées. No doubt, the charming
sovereign was deeply impressed and a little bewildered;
but the warmth of her welcome, the
heartiness of the cheering afforded her, as well as
her consort, a visible pleasure; and, from that very
first day, she was full of pretty thoughts and he of
generous movements. At a certain moment, she
took a rose from a bouquet of <i>roses de France</i> which
she was carrying and gave it to a little girl who
had thrust herself close up to the carriage. He, on
the other hand, walked straight to the colours of
the battalion of Zouaves who were presenting arms
in the courtyard of the Foreign Office and raised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>
to his lips the folds of the standard on which
were inscribed two names dear to Italian hearts
and French memories alike: Magenta and Solferino.</p>
<p>The Foreign Office was turned into a "royal
palace" for the occasion of this visit. While the
government had set its wits to work to decorate in
the most sumptuous style the apartments which
the King and Queen of Italy were to occupy on
the first floor, Madame Delcassé, the wife of the
foreign minister, on her side, did her best to relieve
the somewhat cold and solemn appearance of the
rooms. With this object, she procured photographs
of the little Princesses Yolanda and Mafalda
and placed them in handsome frames on the
Queen's dressing-table. The Queen was greatly
touched by the delicate attention. On entering the
room, she uttered a spontaneous exclamation that
betrayed all a mother's fondness:</p>
<p>"Oh, the children! How delightful!"</p>
<p>The children! How often those words returned
to her lips during her stay in Paris! She spoke of
them incessantly, she spoke of them to everybody,
to Madame Loubet, to Madame Delcassé, to the
Italian ambassadress, even to the two French waiting-maids
attached to her service:</p>
<p>"Yolanda, the elder, with her black hair and her
black eyes is like me," she would explain. "Mafalda,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
on the other hand, is the image of her father.
They both have such good little hearts."</p>
<p>Her maternal anxiety was also manifested in the
impatience with which she used to wait for news
of the princesses. Every evening, when she returned
to the Foreign Office after a day of drives
and visits in different parts of Paris, her first words
were:</p>
<p>"My wire?"</p>
<p>And, a little nervously, she opened the telegram
that wras dispatched to her daily from San Rossore,
where "the children" were, and greedily read the
bulletin of reassuring news which it contained.</p>
<p>On the morning after her arrival, she rang for
a maid as soon as she woke up:</p>
<p>"I have an old friend in Paris," she said, "whom
I want to see; it is my old French mistress, Mlle.
E——. She lives on the Quai Voltaire; please
have her sent for."</p>
<p>An attaché of the office hastened off at once and,
in half an hour, returned triumphantly with Mlle.
E——, a charming old lady who had once been
governess to Princess Helena of Montenegro at
Cetinje. She had not seen her for ten years;
and the reader can imagine her surprise and her
confusion. The mistress and pupil threw themselves
into each other's arms. And, when Mlle.
E—— persisted in addressing the Queen as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>
"Your Majesty," the latter interrupted her and
said:</p>
<p>"Why 'Your Majesty'? Call me Helena, as in
the old days."</p>
<p>The authorities, conforming to royal usage, had
considered it the proper thing to prepare two distinct
suites of rooms, one for the King and one for
the Queen, separated by an enormous drawing-room.
Great was our surprise when, on the following
morning, the rumour ran through the passages
of the Foreign Office that the King's bed-room had
remained untenanted. Had he found it uncomfortable?
Did he not like the room? Everyone began
to be anxious and it was felt that the mystery
must be cleared up. I therefore went to one of the
officers of the royal suite, took him aside and, while
talking of "other things," tried to question him
as to the King's impressions:</p>
<p>"Is His Majesty pleased with his apartments?"</p>
<p>"Delighted."</p>
<p>"Was there anything wrong with the heating
arrangements?"</p>
<p>"No, nothing."</p>
<p>"Perhaps the King does not care for the bed provided
for His Majesty's use? I hear it is very soft
and comfortable, in addition to being historic."</p>
<p>"Not at all, not at all; I believe His Majesty
thought everything perfect."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p>
<p>Alas, I felt that my hints were misunderstood!
I must needs speak more directly. Without
further circumlocution, therefore, I said:</p>
<p>"The fact is, it appears that the King did not
deign to occupy his apartment."</p>
<p>The officer looked at me and smiled:</p>
<p>"But the King never leaves the Queen!" he exclaimed.
"With us, married couples seldom have
separate rooms, unless when they are on bad terms.
And that is not the case here!..."</p>
<p>They never were parted, in fact, except at early
breakfast. The King was accustomed to take
<i>café au lait</i>, the Queen chocolate; the first was
served in the small sitting-room, where the King,
already dressed in his general's uniform, went
through his letters; the second in the boudoir, where
the Queen, in a pink surat dressing-gown, trimmed
with lace, devoted two hours, after her toilet, every
morning, to her correspondence, or to the very
feminine pleasure of trying on frocks and hats.</p>
<p>I twice again had the honour of seeing her shopping,
as on a former celebrated occasion; but this
time I accompanied her in the course of my professional
duties. She bought no gloves, but made
up for it by purchases of linen, jewels, numerous
knick-knacks and toys; and one would have thought
that she was buying those china dolls, with their
tiny sets of tea-things, for herself, so great was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
the child-like joy which she showed in their selection.</p>
<p>"This is for Yolanda; this is for Mafalda," she
said, as she pointed to the objects that were to be
placed on one side.</p>
<p>I saw her for the first time grave and thoughtful
at the Palace at Versailles, which she and the King
visited in the company of M. and Madame Loubet.
I think that she must have retained a delightful
recollection of this excursion to the palace of our
kings, an excursion which left a lively impression
on my mind. It seemed as though Nature herself
had conspired to accentuate its charm. The
ancestral park was as it were shrouded in the soft
rays of the expiring autumn: the trees crowned their
sombre tops with a few belated leaves of golden
brown; the distances were mauve, like lilac in April;
and the breeze that blew from the west scattered
the water of the fountains and changed it into
feathery tufts of vapour.</p>
<p>The sovereigns, escorted by the distinguished
keeper of the palace, M. de Noblac, first visited the
state apartments, stopping for some time before the
portraits of the princes and princesses of the House
of France. And, in those great rooms filled with
so many precious memories, Queen Helena listened
silently and eagerly to the keeper's explanations.
She lingered more particularly in the private<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>
apartments of Marie Antoinette, where the most
trifling objects excited her curiosity; obviously her
imagination as a woman and a queen took pleasure
in this feminine and royal past. Sometimes, obeying
a discreet and spontaneous impulse, when the
overpowering memory of some tragic episode
weighed too heavily upon our silent thoughts, she
pressed herself timidly against the King, as a little
girl might do. And once we heard her whisper:</p>
<p>"Ah, if things could speak!"</p>
<h3 class="p2">4.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">And the King? The King, while appreciating,
as an expert, the archæological beauties which we
had to show him and the imperishable evidences of
our history, did not share the Queen's enthusiasm
for our artistic treasures. When coming to Paris,
he had looked forward to two chief pleasures: to see
our soldiers and to visit the Musée Monétaire, or
collection of coins at our national mint.</p>
<p>As is well-known, Victor Emanuel is considered—and
rightly so—an exceedingly capable numismatist.
He is very proud of his title as honorary
president of the Italian Numismatical Society and,
in 1897, undertook the task of drawing up the catalogue
of the authentic old coinages of Italy. He
derived the necessary materials for his work from
his own collection, which at that time consisted of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>
about forty thousand pieces. Now, of the two
hundred and sixty types of Italian coinage known,
barely one-half could lay claim to absolute genuineness;
and the work which he had to perform in
bringing them together, completing them and
authenticating them was no light one.</p>
<p>A rather interesting story is told of the manner
in which the King, when still little more than a
child, acquired a taste for the science of numismatics.
One day, he received a <i>soldo</i> bearing the
head of Pope Pius IX, which he kept. A little
later, finding another, he added it to the first; and,
in this way, he ended by collecting fifteen. Meanwhile,
his father, King Humbert, presented him
with some sixty pieces of old copper money; and
he thus formed the nucleus of his collection.</p>
<p>Thenceforward, at every anniversary, on his
birthday, at Christmas, at Easter, the different
members of the royal family, who used to chaff him
about his new passion, gave him coins or medals.
He made important purchases on his own account;
and, finally, in 1900, he doubled the dimensions
of his collection at one stroke by buying the inestimable
treasure of coins belonging to the Marchese
Marignoli, which was on the point of being
dispersed to the four corners of the earth.</p>
<p>He admits, nevertheless, that the piece that represents
the highest value in his eyes is a gold Montenegrin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>
coin struck in the early days of the Petrovich
dynasty and presented to him by Princess
Helena of Montenegro at the time of their engagement.
This coin is so rare that only one specimen
is known to exist, apart from that in the possession
of Victor Emanuel III; it is in the numismatical
gallery at Vienna.</p>
<p>The King, moreover, has enriched his collection
lately with an exceedingly rare series of coins of the
Avignon popes. They were sold at auction at
Frankfort; and a spirited contest took place between
buyers acting respectively on behalf of King
Victor Emanuel, the Pope and the director of our
own gallery of medals.</p>
<p>It was, therefore, with a very special interest that
he visited our mint, whose collection is famed
throughout Europe. The director, knowing that
he had to do with a connoisseur, had taken a great
deal of trouble; in fact, I believe that he intended to
"stagger" the King with his erudition. But he
reckoned without his host, or rather his guest; and
instead of the expert dazzling the King, it was the
King who astonished the expert. He surprised
him to such good purpose, with the accuracy and
extent of his information on the subject of coins,
that the learned director had to own himself beaten:</p>
<p>"We are school-boys beside Your Majesty," he
confessed, in all humility.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p>
<p>And I think that this was something more than
a courtier's phrase.</p>
<p>The King, as I have said, takes a keen interest in
military matters. He displayed it on the occasion
of the review of the Paris garrison. Even as he
had appeared bored at the concert at the Élysée on
the previous evening, so now he seemed to enjoy
the impressive spectacle which we were able to offer
him on the drill-ground at Vincennes. He wished
to ride along the front of the troops on horse-back
and had brought with him from Italy, for this purpose,
his own saddle, a very handsome, richly-caparisoned,
military saddle. The governor of
Paris having lent him a charger, he proved himself
a first-rate horseman, for the animal, unnerved at
having to carry a harness heavier than that to
which it was accustomed, could hit upon nothing better
than to make a display of its ill-temper, regardless
of the august quality of its rider. It was the
worst day's work that that horse ever did in its life,
and it had to recognise that it had found its master.</p>
<p>After making a thorough inspection of the troops
by the side of the minister of war, the King expressed
a desire to examine the outfit of one of the
soldiers; and a private was ordered to fall out of
the ranks. Victor Emanuel took up the soldier's
knapsack, handled it, looked through it and made a
movement as though to buckle it to the man's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
shoulders again himself, whereat the worthy little
<i>pioupiou</i>, quite scared and red with dismay, cried:</p>
<p>"Oh, no, thanks, <i>mon</i>—<i>mon</i>—"</p>
<p>But the poor fellow, who had never even spoken
to a general, had no notion how to address a king!</p>
<p>Thereupon the King, greatly amused, made a
charming reply:</p>
<p>"Call me what your forebears, the French
soldiers in 1859, called my grandfather on the night
of the battle of Palestro; call me <i>mon caporal</i>!"</p>
<p>Victor Emanuel has too practical and matter-of-fact
a mind to be what is known as a man of sentiment.
Nevertheless, I saw him betray a real emotion
when he was taken, on the following day, to
visit the tomb of Napoleon I. The tomb was
surrounded by six old pensioners carrying lighted
torches. There were but few people there; the fitful
flames of the torches cast their fantastic gleams
upon the imperial sarcophagus; and the invisible
presence of the Great Conqueror hovered over us:
it seemed as though he would suddenly rise bodily
out of that yawning gulf, that coffin of marble,
dressed in his grey overcoat and his immemorial
hat.</p>
<p>During a long silence, the King stood and
dreamt, with bowed head. When we left the
chapel, he was dreaming still.</p>
<p>I had another striking picture of Victor Emanuel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>
III during the day's shooting with which M. Loubet
provided him in the preserves at Rambouillet. The
King, whose love of sport equals his passion for
numismatics, is a first-rate shot. He aims at a
great height, is careful of his cartridges and rarely
misses a bird. According to custom, he was followed
at Rambouillet by a keeper carrying a second
gun, loaded, of course, in advance.</p>
<p>Now it happened that the King, seeing a flock
of pheasants, began by discharging both barrels
and bringing down a brace of birds. He then took
the other gun, which the keeper held ready for
him, put it to his shoulder and pulled the trigger;
both shots missed fire. The keeper had forgotten
to load the gun! Picture the rage of the sovereign,
who, disconsolate at losing his pheasants, began to
rate the culprit harshly! The unfortunate keeper,
feeling more dead than alive, did not know what
excuse to make; and he looked upon his place as
fairly lost.</p>
<p>Then the King, guessing the man's unspoken
fears, abruptly changed his tone:</p>
<p>"Never mind," he said. "There's no forgiving
you; but I shall not say anything about it."</p>
<p>The King was obviously delighted with his day's
sport. Yet, among the many attentions which we
paid our guests during their brief stay in Paris,
one surprise which we prepared for them was, if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
I am not mistaken, more acceptable to them—and
especially to the Queen—than any other. This
surprise consisted in the recital before Their Majesties,
by our great actress, Madame Bartet, of the
Comédie Française, of an unpublished poem from
the pen of the Queen herself.</p>
<p>Helena of Montenegro had been a poet, in fact,
in her leisure hours. At the time when she was
engaged to be married, she wrote a poem in Russian
which she sent to a St. Petersburg magazine,
under the pseudonym of "Blue Butterfly"; and
the magazine printed it without knowing the author's
real name. It was written in rhythmical
prose; and I was fortunate enough to procure a
copy of the translation:</p>
<p class="pn center mid p1">VISION</p>
<p class="pq p1">The mother said to her daughter:</p>
<p class="pq">"Wouldst know how the world is made? Open thine
eyes."</p>
<p class="pq">And the little maid opened her eyes. She saw lordly
and towering mountains, she saw valleys full of delights,
she saw the sun which shines upon and gilds all things,
she saw twinkling stars and the deep billows of the sea,
she saw torrents with foaming waters and flowers with
varied perfumes, she saw light-winged birds and the golden
sheaves of the harvest. Then she closed her eyes.</p>
<p class="pq b1">And then she saw, she saw the fairest thing upon this
earth: the image of the beloved who filled her heart, the
image of the beloved who shone within her soul, the image
of the beloved who gave his love in return for the love that
was hers.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-229.jpg" width="400" height="234"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">THE KING AND QUEEN OF ITALY AND THE CROWN PRINCE</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">This charming fragment had been recovered by
a collector of royal poetry some time before the
visit of the Italian sovereigns. M. André Rivoire,
one of our finest poets, transposed it into French
verse; and M. Loubet delicately caused it to be recited
to our hosts in the course of a reception given
in their honour at the Élysée. That evening, the
beautiful Queen enjoyed a twofold success, as a
woman and as a poetess.</p>
<h3 class="p2">5.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">The unpretending affability of the royal couple
was bound to win the affections of the French
people. The daily more enthusiastic cheers that
greeted them in their drives through Paris proved
that they had conquered all hearts.</p>
<p>"It is astonishing," said an Italian official to me,
"but they are even more popular here than at
home!"</p>
<p>"That must be because they show themselves
more," I replied.</p>
<p>At the risk of disappointing the reader, I am
bound to confess that no tragic or even unpleasant
incident came to spoil their pleasure or their peace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>
of mind. It appeared that the anarchist gentry
were allowing themselves a little holiday.</p>
<p>In the absence of the traditional plot, we had, it
is true, the inevitable shower of anonymous letters
and even some that were signed. The Queen, alas,
had done much to encourage epistolary mendicants
by announcing her wish that replies should be sent
to all letters asking for assistance and that, in
every possible case, satisfaction should be given to
the writers. The result was that all the poverty-stricken
Italians with whom Paris teems gave themselves
free scope to their hearts' delight; and the
usual fraternity of French begging-letter-writers—those
who had formerly so artlessly striven to excite
the compassion of the Shah of Persia—also tried
what they could do.</p>
<p>But what reply was it possible to send to such letters
as the following (I have kept a few specimens)?</p>
<p class="pn p1 center">"<i>To Her Majesty the Queen of Italy.</i></p>
<p class="pqn p1">"<i>Madame</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"We are a young married couple, honest, but poor.
We were unable to have a honeymoon, for lack of money.
It would be our dream to go to Italy, which is said to be
the land of lovers. We thought that Your Majesty, loving
your husband as you do and, therefore, knowing what
love means, might consent to help us to make this little
journey. We should want 500 francs; we entreat Your
Majesty to lend it to us. When my husband has a better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
situation—he is at present an assistant in a curiosity-shop—he
will not fail to repay Your Majesty the money.</p>
<p class="pq">"Pray accept the thanks, Madame, of</p>
<p class="pq15">"Your Majesty's respectful and grateful servant,</p>
<p class="pq60">"<span class="smcap">Marie G—</span>,</p>
<p class="pq40">"<i>Poste Restante 370</i>,</p>
<p class="pq50">"<span class="smcap">Paris</span>."</p>
<p class="pn p1 center">"<i>To His Majesty the King of Italy.</i></p>
<p class="pqn p1">"<i>Sir</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"I am a young painter full of ambition and said to
be not devoid of talent. I am very anxious to see Rome
and to study its artistic masterpieces. Not possessing
the necessary means, I am writing to ask if you would not
give me an employment of any kind, even in the service of
the royal motor-cars (for I know how to drive a motor),
so that I may be enabled in my spare time, to visit the
monuments and picture-galleries and to perfect myself in
my art.</p>
<p class="pq">"Pray accept, etc.</p>
<p class="pq60">"<span class="smcap">Louis S—</span>,</p>
<p class="pq30">"<i>At the Café du Capitole</i>,</p>
<p class="pq40">"<span class="smcap">Toulouse</span>."</p>
<p class="p1">Here is a letter of another description:</p>
<p class="pn center p1">"<i>To Her Majesty Queen Helena.</i></p>
<p class="pqn p1">"<i>Madame</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"You are the mother of two pretty babies: for this
reason, I have the honour of sending you herewith two
boxes of lacteal farinaceous food, of my own invention,
for infants of tender years. It is a wonderful strengthening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
and tonic diet and I feel that I am doing Your Majesty
a service in sending you these samples. You are sure
to order more.</p>
<p class="pq">"In the hope of receiving these orders, I am,</p>
<p class="pq15">"Your Majesty's respectful servant,</p>
<p class="pq60">"<span class="smcap">Dr. F. J.</span>,</p>
<p class="pq40">"<i>Rue de la Liberté</i>,</p>
<p class="pq50">"<span class="smcap">Nîmes</span>."</p>
<p class="p1">These few specimens of correspondence will suffice
to give an idea of the harmless and sometimes
comical literature that found its way every morning
into the royal letter-bag. I must not, however,
omit to mention, among the humorous incidents
that marked the sovereign's journey, an
amusing mistake which occurred on the day of their
arrival in Paris.</p>
<p>It was about half-past six in the evening. Our
royal guests had that moment left the Foreign Office,
to pay their first official visit to the President
of the Republic, when a cab stopped outside the
strictly-guarded gate. An old gentleman, very
tall, with a long white beard and very simply
dressed, alighted and was about to walk in with a
confident step.</p>
<p>Three policemen rushed to prevent him:</p>
<p>"Stop!" they cried. "No one is allowed in here."</p>
<p>"Oh," said the stranger, "but I want to see the
King of Italy!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p>
<p>"And who may you be?"</p>
<p>"The King of the Belgians."</p>
<p>They refused to believe him. When he persisted,
however, they went in search of an official,
who at once came and proffered the most abject
apologies. Picture the faces of the policemen!</p>
<p>The King and Queen of Italy stayed only three
days in Paris, as I have said.</p>
<p>"We will come back again," the Queen promised,
when she stepped into the train, radiant at the reception
which had been given her.</p>
<p>They have not returned hitherto. True, they
passed through France, in the following year, on
their way to England. I made the journey with
them; but, as on their first arrival at Modane, the
blinds of their carriage were lowered. They remained
down throughout the journey. Were the
royal pair asleep? I never heard.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a><br /><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a><br /><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a><br /><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">VI</h2>
<p class="pn center p2 large">GEORGE I, KING OF THE HELLENES</p>
<h3 class="p2">1.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">In one of the drawers of my desk lies a bundle
of letters which I preserve carefully, adding
to it, from time to time, when a fresh letter
arrives. They are written in a neat and dainty
hand, almost a woman's hand; the paper is of a very
ordinary quality and bears no crown nor monogram;
and the emblem stamped on the red wax with
which the envelopes are sealed looks as though it
had been selected on purpose to baffle indiscreet
curiosity: it represents a head of Minerva wearing
her helmet.</p>
<p>And yet this correspondence is very interesting;
and I believe that an historian would attach great
value to it, not only because it would supply him
with nice particulars concerning certain events of
our own time, but also because it reveals the exquisite
feeling of one of the most attractive of
sovereigns, the youthfulness of his mind and the
reasons why a royal crown may sometimes seem
heavy even under the radiant skies of Greece.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p>
<p>It is nearly twenty years since I first met the
writer of those letters, the King of the Hellenes;
and, since then, I have watched over his safety on
the occasion of most of his visits to France. This
long acquaintance enabled me to win his gracious
kindness, while he has gained my affectionate devotion.
I often take the liberty of writing to him,
when he is in his own dominions; he never fails to
reply with regularity; and our correspondence
forms, as it were, a sequel to our familiar talks, full
of good-humour and charm, begun at Aix-les-Bains,
in Paris, or in the train.</p>
<p>It would be puerile to state that King George
loves France; the frequency of his visits makes the
fact too obvious. He does more than evince a
warm admiration for our country: this Danish
prince, who has worn the Greek crown for more
than forty-six years, is, with his brother-in-law,
King Edward VII, the most Parisian of our foreign
guests. His Parisianism shows itself not only
in the elegant ease with which he speaks our language:
it is seen in his turn of mind, which is essentially
that of the man about town, and in his
figure, which is slender and strong, tall and graceful,
like that of one of our cavalry-officers. The
quick shrewdness that lurks behind his fair, military
moustache is also peculiarly French; and the touch
of fun which is emphasised by a constant twitching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>
of the eyes and lips and which finds an outlet in
felicitous phrases and unexpected sallies is just of
the sort that makes people say of <i>us</i> that we are
the most satirical people on the face of the earth.</p>
<p>King George's "fun," at any rate, is never cruel;
and, if his chaff sometimes becomes a little caustic,
at least it is always, if I may say so, to the point.</p>
<p>For instance, at the commencement of his reign,
when he found himself grappling with the first internal
difficulties, one of the leaders of the parliamentary
opposition, which was very anxious for the
fall of the ministry so that it might itself take office,
came to him and said, with false and deceitful
melancholy:</p>
<p>"Ah, Sir, if you only had a minister!"</p>
<p>"A minister?" replied the King, with feigned surprise.
"Why, I have seven at least!"</p>
<p>The King was brought up in the admirable school
of simplicity, rectitude and kindness of his father,
King Christian, and was made familiar, from his
early youth, with all the tortuous paths of the political
maze. When the fall of King Otho placed
him, by the greatest of accidents, on the throne of
Greece, he brought with him not only the influence
of his numberless illustrious alliances and the fruits
of a timely experience gained in that marvellous
observation-post which the Court of Denmark supplies:
he also brought the qualities of his cold and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
well-balanced northern temperament to that people
which does not require the stimulation of its Patras
wine to become hot-headed.</p>
<p>And what difficult times the King has passed
through!</p>
<p>The King of Saxony, visiting Corfu one day,
said to him, the next morning:</p>
<p>"Upon my word, it must be charming to be king
of this paradise!"</p>
<p>"You must never repeat that wish," replied King
George, without hesitation. "I have been its king
for thirty years; and speak as one who knows!"</p>
<p>Events that have followed since have amply
justified the bitterness of this outburst, which I find
renewed in the sovereign's letters. And yet, grave
as the Greek crisis is at the moment of writing, I
do not believe that the crown is in any danger.
The Greeks, without distinction of party, recognise
the great services their ruler has rendered to the
national cause, which he has defended for the past
ten years in the European <i>chancelleries</i> with indefatigable
zeal and eloquence.</p>
<p>"I never met a more persuasive or more able
diplomat," said M. Clémenceau, last year after a
visit which he received from George I.</p>
<p>His ability has not only consisted in defending
his country against the ambitious projects of
Turkey by placing her under the protection of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>
powers interested in preserving the <i>status quo</i> in
the East; it has been shown in the ease with which
he effects his ends amid the party quarrels that envenom
political life in Greece. Guided by his
native common-sense and a remarkable knowledge
of mankind, he has made it his study, in governing,
to let people do and say what they please, at least
to an extent that enables him never to find himself
in open opposition to the love of independence and
the easily-offended pride of his subjects; he has
realised that what was required was an uncommon
readiness to yield, rather than inflexible principles;
and, of all the ministers who succeeded one another
since his accession, the celebrated Coumandouros
appears to be the one from whom His Majesty derived
and retained the best system of ironical, easy-going
government.</p>
<p>For the rest, it must be admitted that, although
the Greek nation is sometimes tiresome, with its
faults and weaknesses which, for that matter, are
purely racial and temperamental, on the other hand
it is generous and impulsive to a degree; and its
touchy pride is only the effect of an ardent patriotism
which is sometimes manifested in the most
amusing ways.</p>
<p>For instance, when Greece, not long ago, revived
an ancient and picturesque tradition and decided to
restore the Olympic Games and when it became evident<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>
that these would draw large numbers of foreigners
to Athens, the pickpockets held a meeting
and pledged themselves one and all to suspend hostilities
as long as the games lasted, in order to guard
the reputation of the country. They even took care
to inform the public of the resolution which they
had passed; and they did more; they kept their
word, with this unprecedented result, that the police
had a holiday, thanks to the strike of the thieves!</p>
<p>Last year, Mme. Jacquemaire, a daughter of M.
Clémenceau, then prime minister of France, made
a journey to Greece. Returning by rail from
Athens to the Piræus, where she was to take ship
for Trieste, she missed her travelling-bag, containing
her jewels. This valuable piece of luggage had
evidently been stolen; and she lost no time in lodging
a complaint with the harbour-police, although
she was convinced of the uselessness of the step.
The quest instituted was, in fact, vain. But meanwhile
the press had seized upon the incident and
stirred up public opinion, which was at that time
persuaded that M. Clémenceau, whose Philhellenic
leanings are notorious, had promised the Greek
government his support in its efforts to obtain the
annexation of Crete. The daughter of the man
upon whom the Greeks based such hopes as these
must not, people said, be allowed to take an unfavourable
impression of Greek hospitality away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>
with her. The newspapers published strongly-worded
articles entreating the unknown thief, if he
was a Greek, to give up the profit of his larceny
and to perform a noble and unselfish act; placards
posted on the walls of Athens and the Piræus made
vehement appeals to his patriotism. Twenty-four
hours later, the police received the bag and its contents
untouched; and they were restored to Mme.
Jacquemaire on her arrival at Trieste.</p>
<h3 class="p2">2.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">The pilot's trade is a hard one when you have to
steer through continual rocks, to keep a constant
eye upon a turbulent crew and to look out for the
"squalls" which are perpetually beating down from
the always stormy horizon in the East. It is easily
understood that King George should feel a longing,
when events permit, to go to other climes in search
of a short diversion from his absorbing responsibilities.</p>
<p>"You see," said King Leopold of the Belgians
to me one day, "our real rest lies in forgetting <i>who</i>
we are."</p>
<p>And yet it cannot be said the distractions and the
rest which King George knew that he would find
among us were the only object of the journeys
across Europe which he made every year until the
year before last. He always carried a diplomatist's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>
dispatch-box among his luggage; he is one of those
who believe that a sovereign can travel for his country
while travelling for pleasure.</p>
<p>"I am my own ambassador," he often said to me.</p>
<p>The King used to come to us generally at the
beginning of the autumn, on his way to and from
Copenhagen, where he never omitted to visit his
father, King Christian, and his sisters, Queen Alexandra
and the Empress Marie Feodorovna. He
delighted in this annual gathering, which collected
round the venerable grandsire under the tall trees
of Fredensborg, the largest and most illustrious
family that the world contains, a family over which
the old king's ascendency and authority remained
so great that his children, were they emperors or
kings, dared not go into Copenhagen without first
asking his leave.</p>
<p>"When I am down there, I feel as if I were
still a little boy," King George used to say, laughing.</p>
<p>In France, he was a young man. He divided
his stay between Aix-les-Bains and Paris; and in
Paris, as at Aix, he had but one thought in his head:
to avoid all official pomp and ceremony. He would
have been greatly distressed if he had been treated
too obviously as a sovereign; and, when he accepted
the inevitable official dinner to which the President
of the Republic always invited him, he positively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
refused the royal salute. When at Aix, he used to
yield to the necessity of attending the festivities
which the authorities of that charming watering-place,
where he was very popular, arranged in his
honour; but only because he did not wish to wound
anyone's feelings, however slightly. And, when invited
to go to some display of fireworks:</p>
<p>"Come!" he would sigh. "Another party in my
honour!"</p>
<p>Other business detained me and I had not the
privilege of being attached to his person during
his first stay at Aix. The French Government
sent two commissioners from Lyons to watch over
his safety; and these worthy functionaries, who had
never been charged with a mission of this kind before,
lived in a continual state of alarm. To them,
guarding a king meant never to lose sight of him,
to follow him step by step like a prisoner, to spy
upon his movements as though he were a felon.
They ended by driving our guest mad: no sooner
had he left his bed-room than two shadows fastened
on to his heels and never quitted him; if he went to
a restaurant, to the casino, to the theatre, two stern,
motionless faces appeared in front of him, four
suspicious eyes peered into his least action. It was
of no avail for him to try to throw the myrmidons
off the scent, to look for back-doors by which to
escape from them: there was no avoiding them;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>
they were always there. He made a discreet complaint
and I was asked to replace them.</p>
<p>"You are very welcome," he said, when I arrived.
"Your colleagues from Lyons made such an impression
on me that I ended by taking myself for an
assassin!"</p>
<p>To my mind the mission of guarding this particularly
unaffected and affable King was neither
a very absorbing nor a very thankless task. At
Aix, where he walked about from morning to night
like any ordinary private person, everybody knew
him. There was never the least need for me to
consult the reports of my inspectors; the saunterers,
the shopkeepers, the peasants made it their
business to keep me informed.</p>
<p>"Monsieur le Roi," they would say, "has just
passed this way; he went down that turning."</p>
<p class="b1">Then I would see a familiar form twenty yards
ahead, stick in hand, Homburg hat on one ear, the
slim, brisk figure clad in a light grey suit, strolling
down the street, or looking into a shop-window,
or stopping in the midst of a group of workmen.
It was "Monsieur le Roi."</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-249.jpg" width="400" height="396"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">KING GEORGE OF GREECE IN THE STREETS OF PARIS</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">"Monsieur le Roi" had even become "Monsieur
Georges" to the pretty laundresses whom he greeted
with a pleasant "Good-morning" when he passed
them at the wash-tubs on his way to the bathing
establishment. For he carefully followed the cure
of baths and douches which his trusty physician,
Dr. Guillard, prescribed for his arthritis. He left
the hotel early every morning and walked to the
Baths, taking a road that leads through one of the
oldest parts of Aix. The inhabitants of that picturesque
corner came to know him so well by sight that
they ended by treating him as a friendly neighbour.
Whenever he entered the Rue du Puits-d'Enfer,
the street-boys would stop playing and receive him
with merry cheers, to which he replied by flinging
handfuls of coppers to them. The news of his approach
flew from door to door till it reached the
laundry. Forthwith, the girls stopped the rhythmic
beat of their "dollies"; the songs ceased on
their lips; they quickly wiped the lather from
their hands on a corner of the skirt or apron and
came out of doors, while their fresh young voices
gave him the familiar greeting:</p>
<p>"Good-morning, M. Georges! Three cheers for
M. Georges!"</p>
<p>They chatted for a bit; the King amused himself
by asking questions, joking, replying; then, touching
the brim of his felt hat, he went his way with
the bright voices calling after him prettily:</p>
<p>"Au revoir, M. Georges! Till to-morrow!"</p>
<p>He enjoyed this morning call before getting into
the "deep bath" reserved for him; and he himself
was popular in and around the laundry in the Rue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
du Puits-d'Enfer, not only because of his good-nature
and good-humour, but because the girls had
more than once experienced the benefits of his unobtrusive
generosity.</p>
<p>His days, at Aix as in Paris, were regulated with
mathematical precision: George I is a living chronometer!
After making his daily pilgrimage to
the Baths, he returned to the hotel, read his telegrams,
dipped into the French and English
newspapers and worked with his Master of the
Household, Count Cernovitz, or with his equerry,
General de Reineck, or else with M. Delyanni, the
deeply-regretted Greek minister to Paris, whom he
honoured with a great affection and who always
joined his royal master at Aix.</p>
<p>From eleven to twelve in the morning, he generally
gave audiences, either to the authorities of
Aix, with whom he maintained cordial relations, or
to strangers of note who were presented to him
during his stay. When he kept a few people to
lunch—which often happened—they had to resign
themselves to leaving their appetite unsatisfied.
The King eats very little in the day-time and not
only ordered a desperately frugal <i>menu</i>, but himself
touched nothing except the <i>hors-d'œuvre</i>. His
visitors naturally thought themselves obliged, out
of deference to imitate his example, the more so
as, otherwise, they ran the risk of having their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
mouths full at the moment when they had to reply
to the King's frequent questions. His regular
guests, therefore, the prefect and the mayor, knowing
by experience what was in store for them, had
adopted a system which was both practical and ingenious:
whenever they were invited to the royal
table they lunched before they came.</p>
<p>In the evening, on the other hand, His Majesty
made a hearty meal. He always dined in the public
room of the restaurant of the Casino, with his
medical adviser and some friends; and, when Dr.
Guillard cried out against the excessive number of
courses which the royal host was fond of ordering:</p>
<p>"Don't be angry with me," he replied. "I don't
order them for myself, but for the good of the
house; if the restaurant didn't make a profit out of
me, where would it be?"</p>
<p>After dinner, he took us with him either to the
gaming-rooms or to the theatre. Although the
King did not play himself, it amused him to stroll
round the tables, to watch the expression of the
gamblers, and to observe the numberless typical
incidents that always occur among such a cosmopolitan
crowd as that consisting of the frequenters
of our watering-places. He also loved to hear the
gossip of the place, to know all about the petty intrigues,
the little domestic tragedies. Lastly, he
liked making the acquaintance of any well-known<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>
actor or actress who happened to be passing
through Aix.</p>
<p>One evening, seeing Mlle. Balthy, the famous
comic reciter, at the Casino and knowing, by hearsay,
what a witty woman she was, he told me that
he would be glad to meet her; and nothing was
easier than to satisfy the King's wish. Nevertheless,
the idea frightened me a little: the humour
of the charmingly eccentric artist that Balthy is,
sometimes adopts so very daring a form, and I
dreaded lest her remarks might be a little too
"startling." I spoke my mind on the subject to
the King.</p>
<p>"Never fear, Paoli," he said. "Mlle. Balthy's
'startling' side will amuse me immensely: you need
not be a greater royalist than the King!"</p>
<p>So I went in search of the delightful creature:</p>
<p>"My dear Balthy," I said, "come with me and
be presented to the King."</p>
<p>"To George?" she replied, winking her eye.</p>
<p>I shuddered with dismay!</p>
<p>"To His Majesty the King of the Hellenes, yes."</p>
<p>"Come on!"</p>
<p>But lo and behold, in the King's presence,
Balthy—O, wonder of wonders!—lost all her self-assurance.
I expected to see her tap the King on
the shoulder; instead, she made him an elaborate
curtsey. In reply to the compliments which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>
paid her she was content modestly to lower her
eyes: she even went so far as to blush! We might
have been at court.</p>
<p>And, when the King, not knowing what to think,
and feeling perhaps a trifle disappointed, confessed
his surprise at her shyness:</p>
<p>"What can you expect?" she declared. "If
even you were merely a president of the republic,
it wouldn't put me out; but a king—that makes me
feel uncomfortable! And, besides, no king can
care for thin women; and I should look like a sardine,
even if you put me next to Sarah Bernhardt!"</p>
<p>The ice was broken. The Balthy of tradition
began to peep through the surface and the King
was delighted.</p>
<p>Our guest did more than show his liking for the
shining light of the profession: he numbered
friends also among the humble performers at the
Grand Théâtre. Sabadon, the good, jolly, indescribable
Sabadon, who for twenty years had sung
first "heavy bass" at the theatre of the town, was
one of them. This is how I discovered the fact:
when the King came to Aix, some years ago, Sabadon
shouldered his way to the front row of the
spectators who were waiting outside the station to
see His Majesty arrive. The enthusiastic crowd
kept on shouting, "Long live King George!" and
Sabadon, with his powerful voice, his "heavy bass"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>
voice, which had filled all the "grand theatres" in
the provinces, Sabadon, with his southern accent
(he was from Toulouse) shouted louder than all
the rest and, so that he might shout more freely,
had taken a step forward.</p>
<p>But a policeman was watching; and fearing lest
the royal procession should be disturbed by this intrusive
person, he walked up to him and, in a bullying
tone, said:</p>
<p>"Get back; and look sharp about it. You don't
imagine you're going to stand in the King's road,
do you?"</p>
<p>Sabadon, who is a hot-blooded fellow, like all the
men from his part of the country, was about to reply
with one of those forcible and pungent outbursts
which are the salt of the Gascon speech:</p>
<p>"You low, rascally—" he began.</p>
<p>But he had no time to finish. The King appeared
at the entrance to the railway-station, came
across and, as he passed, said:</p>
<p>"Hullo, M. Sabadon! How do you do, M. Sabadon?
Are they biting this year?"</p>
<p>"Yes, Sir, Your Majesty. And your family?
Keeping well, I hope? That's right!"</p>
<p>Then, when the King had disappeared, Sabadon
turned to the astounded policeman:</p>
<p>"What do you say to that, my son? Flabbergasts
you, eh?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p>
<p>How did the King come to know the singer?
And why had he asked with so much interest if
"they were biting this year"? One of the local
papers reported the incident and supplied the explanation,
which I did not trouble to verify, but
which is so amusing and, at the same time, probable
that I give it here. The King, it seems, who
often walked to the Lac du Bourget, a few miles
from Aix, thought that he would try his hand at
fishing, one afternoon. Taking the necessary
tackle with him, he sat down on the shore of the
lake and cast his line. Ten minutes, twenty minutes
passed. Not a bite. The King felt the more
annoyed as, thirty yards from where he was, a man—a
stranger like himself—was pulling up his line
at every moment with a trout or a bream wriggling
at the end of it.</p>
<p>The disheartened King ended by deciding to
go up to the angler and ask him how he managed
to catch so many fish! But before he was
able to say a word, the man stood up, bowed
with great ceremony and, in a stentorian voice,
said:</p>
<p>"Sir, Your Majesty...."</p>
<p>"What! Do you know me?" asked the King.</p>
<p>"Sir, Your Majesty, let me introduce myself:
Sabadon, second heavy bass at the Théâtre du Capitole
of Toulouse, at this moment first chorus-leader<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>
at the Théâtre Municipal of Aix-les-Bains. I have
seen you in the stage-box."</p>
<p>"Ah!" said the King, taken aback. "But please
explain to me why you get so many fish, whereas...."</p>
<p>"Habit, Sir, Your Majesty, a trick of the hand
and personal fascination; it needs an education; I
got mine at Pinsaquel, near Toulouse, at the junction
of the Ariège and the Gavonne.... Ah,
Pinsaquel!"</p>
<p>And Sabadon's voice was filled with all the pangs
of homesickness:</p>
<p>"Have you never been to Pinsaquel? You ought
to go; it's the anglers' paradise."</p>
<p>"Certainly, I will go there one day. But, meanwhile,
I shall be returning with an empty basket."</p>
<p>"Never, not if I know it! Take my place, Sir,
Your Majesty, each time I say 'Hop'! pull up your
line, and tell me what you think of it!"</p>
<p>The King, mightily amused by the adventure,
followed his instructions. In three minutes Sabadon's
tremendous voice gave the signal:</p>
<p>"Hop!"</p>
<p>It was a trout. And the fishing went on, in an
almost miraculous manner.</p>
<p>As they walked back to the town together, an
hour later, Sabadon took the opportunity to expound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>
to the King the cause of his grudge against
Meyerbeer, the composer:</p>
<p>"You must understand, Sir, Your Majesty, that,
at the theatre, at Toulouse, it was I who used to
play the night watchman in the <i>Huguenots</i>. I had
to cross the stage with a lantern; and, as I am very
popular at Toulouse, I used to receive a wonderful
ovation: "Bravo, Sabadon! Hurrah for Sabadon!"
Just as when you came to Aix, Sir, Your
Majesty.... Well, in spite of that the manager
absolutely refused to let me take a call, because
the music didn't lend itself to it! I ask you,
Sir, Your Majesty, if that lout of a Meyerbeer
couldn't have let me cross the stage a second time!"</p>
<h3 class="p2">3.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">King George, who, like most reigning sovereigns,
is an indefatigable walker, used to start out every
day in the late afternoon and come back just before
dinner-time. He nearly always took a member of
his suite with him; one of my inspectors would follow
him. All the peasants round Aix knew the
King by sight and raised their caps as he passed.
He is very young in mind—in this respect, he has
remained the midshipman of his boyhood—and he
sometimes amused himself by playing a trick on
the companion of his walk. For instance, as soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>
as he saw that his equerry, after covering a reasonable
number of miles, was beginning, if I may so
express myself, to hang out signals of distress, the
King suggested that they should turn into a roadside
public-house for a drink.</p>
<p>"They keep a certain small wine of the country
here," he said, "which has a flavour all of its own;
but you must drink it down at a draught."</p>
<p>The other, whether he was thirsty or not, dared
not refuse. They therefore entered the inn and the
King had a tumbler filled with the famous nectar
and handed it to his equerry, taking good care not
to drink any himself. It was, in point of fact, a
<i>piquette</i>, or sour wine, with a taste "all of its own"
and resembling nothing so much as vinegar; and
the King's guest, when he had emptied his glass,
could not help pulling a frightful face. He dared
not, however, be so disrespectful as to complain;
and when the King, who had enjoyed the scene
enormously, asked, in a very serious voice:</p>
<p>"Delicious, isn't it?"</p>
<p>"Oh, delicious!" the equerry replied, with an air
of conviction.</p>
<p>You must not, however, think that the King's
practical jokes were always cruel. Most often,
they bore witness, under a superficial appearance of
mischief, to his discriminating kindness of heart.</p>
<p>I remember, in this connexion, once going to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>
meet him at the frontier-station of Culoz, through
which he was passing on his way from Geneva to
Aix. The members of his suite and I had left him
alone, for a few moments, while we went to buy
some books and newspapers which he had asked for.
As he was walking up and down the platform, he
saw a good woman at the door of a third-class railway-carriage,
a plump, red-faced sort of peasant-woman,
who was making vain efforts to open the
door and fuming with anger and impatience. Suddenly
catching sight of the King, who stood looking
at her:</p>
<p>"Hi, there, Mr. Porter!" she cried. "Come and
help me, can't you?"</p>
<p>The King ran up, opened the carriage-door and
received the fat person in his arms. Next, she said:</p>
<p>"Fetch me out my basket of vegetables and my
bundle."</p>
<p>The King obediently executed her commands.
At that moment we appeared upon the platform,
and to our amazement saw King George carrying
the basket under one arm and the bundle under
the other. He made a sign to me not to move.
He carried the luggage to the waiting-room, took
a ticket for the fair traveller, who was changing her
train, and refused to accept payment for it, in spite
of her insistence. What a pleasant recollection she
must have of the porters at Culoz Station!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p>
<p>Here is another adventure, which happened at
Aix. The King had the habit, on leaving the Casino
in the evening, to go back with me in the hotel-omnibus,
which was reserved for his use: he found
this easier than taking a cab. One evening, just
as we were about to step in, a visitor staying at
the hotel, a foreign lady, not knowing that the
omnibus was reserved exclusively for the King,
went in before us, sat down and waited for the
'bus to start. As I was about to ask her to get
out:</p>
<p>"Let her be," said the King. "She's not in our
way."</p>
<p>We got inside in our turn; I sat down opposite
the King; the omnibus started; the lady did not
move. Suddenly, the King broke silence and
spoke to me; I replied, using, of course, the customary
forms of "Sire" and "Your Majesty."</p>
<p>Thereupon the lady looked at us in dismay, flung
herself against the window, tapped at it, called out:</p>
<p>"What have I done? Heavens, what have I
done?" she cried. "I am in the King's omnibus!
Stop! Stop!"</p>
<p>And turning to the King, with a theatrical gesture:</p>
<p>"Pardon, Sire."</p>
<p>The King was seized with a fit of laughing, in
the midst of which he did his best to reassure her:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p>
<p>"I entreat you, Madam, calm yourself! You
have nothing to fear: a King is not an epidemic
disease!"</p>
<p>The good lady quieted down; but we reached
the hotel without being able to extract a word from
her paralysed throat.</p>
<p>In this respect, she did not resemble the majority
of her sisters of the fair sex, before whose
imperious and charming despotism we have bowed
since the days of our father Adam. As a matter
of fact, no sovereign that I know of ever aroused
more affectionate curiosity in the female circles
than King George. The glamour of his rank had
something to say to the matter, no doubt; but I
have reason to believe that the elegance of his person,
the affability of his manners and the conquering
air of his moustache were not wholly unconnected
with it. Whether leaving his hotel, or
entering the restaurant or one of the rooms of the
Casino, or appearing in the paddock at the races,
which he attended regularly, he became the cynosure
of every pair of bright eyes and the object
of cunning manœuvres on the part of their pretty
owners, who were anxious to approach him and to
find out what a king is made of when you see him
close. No man is quite insensible to such advances.
At the same time, George I was too clever to be
taken in; he was amused at the homage paid him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>
and accepted it in his usual spirit of bantering, but
polite coyness, although the ladies' persistence
often became both indiscreet and troublesome.</p>
<p>For the rest, he led a very quiet, very methodical
and rather monotonous life, both at Aix and
in Paris; for to the character of this sovereign, as
to that of most others, there is a "middle-class"
side that displays itself in harmless eccentricities.
For instance, King George, when he travels
abroad, always goes to the same hotel, occupies the
same rooms and is so averse to change that he likes
every piece of furniture to be in exactly the same
place where he last left it. I shall never forget
my astonishment when, entering the King's bed-room
a few moments after his arrival at the Hôtel
Bristol in Paris, I caught him bodily moving a
heavy Louis-XV chest of drawers, which he carried
across the room with the help of his physician.</p>
<p>"You see," he said, "it used to stand by the fireplace
and they have shifted it to the window, so I
am putting it back."</p>
<p>Certainly, he had the most wonderful memory
for places that I ever observed.</p>
<h3 class="p2">4.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">I have spoken of my duties with regard to this
monarch as an agreeable sinecure. But I was exaggerating.
Once, when I was with him at Aix,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>
I had a terrible alarm. I was standing beside him,
in the evening, in the <i>petits-chevaux</i> room at the
Casino, when one of my inspectors slipped a note
into my hand. It was to inform me that an individual
of Roumanian nationality, a rabid Grecophobe,
had arrived at Aix, with, it was feared, the
intention of killing the King. There was no
further clue.</p>
<p>I was in a very unpleasant predicament. I did
not like to tell the King, for fear of spoiling his
stay. To go just then in search of further details
would have been worse still: there could be no question
of leaving the King alone. How could I discover
the man? For all I knew, he was quite near;
and instinctively, I scrutinised carefully all the
people who crowded round us, kept my eyes fixed
on those who seemed to be staring too persistently
at the King and watched every movement of the
players.</p>
<p>At daybreak the next morning, I set to work and
started enquiries. I had no difficulty in discovering
my man. He was a Roumanian student and
had put up at a cheap hotel; he was said to be
rather excitable in his manner, if not in his language.
I could not arrest him as long as I had
no definite charge brought against him. I resolved
to have him closely shadowed by the Aix police
and I myself arranged never to stir a foot from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>
King's side. Things went on like this for several
days: the King knew nothing and the Roumanian
neither; but I would gladly have bought him a railway-ticket
to get rid of him.</p>
<p>Presently, however, one of my inspectors came
to me, wearing a terrified look:</p>
<p>"We've lost the track of the Roumanian!" he
declared.</p>
<p>"You are mad!" I cried.</p>
<p>"No, would I were! He has left his hotel unnoticed
by any of us; and we don't know what has
become of him."</p>
<p>I flew into a rage and at once ordered a search
to be made for him. It was labour lost; there was
not a trace of him to be found.</p>
<p>For once, I was seriously uneasy. I resolved
to tell the whole story to the King so that he might
allow himself to be quietly guarded. But he
merely shrugged his shoulders and laughed.</p>
<p>"You see, Paoli," he said, "I am a fatalist. If
my hour has come, neither you nor I can avoid it;
and I am certainly not going to let a trifle of this
kind spoil my holiday. Besides, it is not the first
time that I have seen danger close at hand; and
I assure you that I am not afraid. Look here, a
few years ago, I was returning one day with my
daughter to my castle of Tatoï, near Athens. We
were driving, without an escort. Suddenly, happening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>
to turn my head, I saw a rifle barrel pointed
at us from the road side, gleaming between the
leaves of the bushes. I leaped up and instantly
flung myself in front of my daughter. The rifle
followed me. I said to myself, 'It's all over; I'm
a dead man.' And what do you think I did? I
have never been able to explain why, but I began
to count aloud—'One, two, three'—it seemed an
age; and I was just going to say, 'Four,' when the
shot was fired. I closed my eyes. The bullet
whistled past my ears. The startled horses ran
away, we were saved and I thought no more about
it. So do not let us alarm ourselves before the
event, my dear Paoli: we will wait and see what
happens."</p>
<p>I admired the King's fine coolness, of course;
but I was none the easier in my mind for all that.
Still, the King was right, this time, and I was
wrong: we never heard anything more about the
mysterious Roumanian.</p>
<h3 class="p2">5.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">George I has preserved none but agreeable
recollections of his different visits to Aix. In evidence
of this, I will only mention the regret which
he expressed to me, in one of his last letters, that
the Greek crisis prevented him from making his
usual trip to France in 1909:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p>
<p class="pq p1">"Here where duty keeps me—nobody knows for how
long—I often think of my friends at Aix, of my friends
in France, whom I should so much like to see again; of
that beautiful country, of our walks and talks. But life
is made up of little sacrifices; they do not count, if we succeed
in attaining the object which we pursue; and mine is
to ensure for my people the happiness which they deserve."</p>
<p class="p1">The King has depicted his very self in those few
words: I know no better portrait of him.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a><br /><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a><br /><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">VII</h2>
<p class="pn center p2 large">QUEEN WILHELMINA OF THE NETHERLANDS</p>
<h3 class="p2">1.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">I had the honour of presenting myself in person
to Queen Wilhelmina on the first of
November, 1895, at Geneva, the city where,
a year earlier, I had gone to meet the tragic and
charming Empress Elizabeth of Austria and
where, three years later, I was fated to see her
lying on a bed in an hotel, stabbed to death. The
official instructions with which I was furnished
stated that I was to accompany their Majesties the
Queen and Queen Regent of the Netherlands from
Geneva to Aix-les-Bains and to ensure their safety
during their stay on French soil.</p>
<p>I have preserved a pleasant recollection of this
presentation, which took place on the station-platform
on a dull, wintry morning. I remember how,
while I was introducing myself to General Du
Monceau, the Queen's principal aide-de-camp,
there suddenly appeared on the foot-board of the
royal carriage a young girl with laughing eyes, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
face agleam and pink under her flaxen tresses, very
simply dressed in a blue tailor-made skirt and coat,
with a big black boa round her neck. And I remember
a fresh, almost childish voice that made the
general give a brisk half-turn and a courtly bow.</p>
<p>"General," she said, "don't forget to buy me some
post cards!"</p>
<p>This pink, fair-haired girl, with the clear voice,
was Queen Wilhelmina, who at that time was the
very personification of the title of "the little Queen"
which Europe, with one accord, had bestowed upon
her, a title suggestive of fragile grace, touching
familiarity and affectionate deference. She was
just sixteen years of age. It was true that, as a
poet had written:</p>
<p class="pq20 p1">A pair of woman's eyes already gazed<br />
Above her childish smile;</p>
<p class="pn p1">and that her apprenticeship in the performance of
a queen's duties had already endowed her mind with
a precocious maturity. Nevertheless, her ready astonishment,
her spontaneity, her frank gaiety, her
reckless courage showed that she was still a real
girl, in the full sense of the word. She hastened,
happy and trusting, to the encounter of life; she
blossomed like the tulips of her own far fields; she
was of the age that gives imperious orders to destiny,
that lives in a palace of glass! I doubt whether she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>
really understood—although she never made a remark
to me on the subject—that the French government
had thought itself obliged to appoint a
solemn functionary—even though it were only M.
Paoli!—whose one and only mission was to protect
her against the dagger of a possible assassin. The
sweet little Queen could not imagine herself to
possess an enemy; and the people who had approached
her hitherto had learnt nothing from her
but her gentle kindness.</p>
<p>As for Queen Emma, she was as simple and as
easy of access as her daughter, although more reserved.
She fulfilled her double task as regent and
mother, as counsellor and educator with great
dignity, bringing to it the virile authority, the spirit
of decision and the equability of character which we
so often find in women summoned by a too-early
widowhood to assume the responsibilities of the head
of a family. And nothing more edifying was ever
seen than the close union that prevailed between
those two illustrious ladies, who never left each
other's side, taking all their meals alone, although
they were accompanied by a numerous suite, and
living in a constant communion of thought and in
the still enjoyment of a mutual and most touching
affection.</p>
<p class="b1">Their suite, as I have said, was a numerous one.
In fact, it consisted, in addition to Lieutenant-General<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
Count Du Monceau, of two chamberlains:
Colonel (now Major-general) Jonkheer Willem
van de Poll and Jonkheer Rudolph van Pabst van
Bingerden (now Baron van Pabst van Bingerden);
a business secretary: Jonkheer P. J. Vegelin van
Claerbergen; two ladies-in-waiting: "Mesdemoiselles
les baronnes" (as they were styled in the
Dutch protocol) Elizabeth van Ittersum and Anna
Juckema van Burmania Rengers; a reader: Miss
Kreusler; five waiting-women; and five footmen.
Compared with the tiny courts that usually accompanied
other sovereigns when travelling, this made
a somewhat imposing display! Nevertheless and
notwithstanding the fact that this sixteen-year-old
Queen appeared to me decked with the glory of a
fairy princess, I am bound to admit that the royal
circle presented none of the venerable austerity
and superannuated grace so quaintly conjured up
in Perrault's Tales. The Jonkheers<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> were not
old lords equipped with shirt frills and snuff-boxes;
<i>Mesdemoiselles les baronnes</i> were not severe
duennas encased in stiff silk gowns: the court was
young and gay, with that serene and healthy gaiety
which characterises the Dutch temperament.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-275.jpg" width="400" height="695"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">QUEEN WILHELMINA</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">Why was it going to Aix? The choice of this
stay puzzled me. Aix-les-Bains is hardly ever
visited in November. The principal hotels are
closed, for, in that mountainous region, winter sets
in with full severity immediately after the end of
autumn.</p>
<p>I put the question to General Du Monceau, who
explained to me that the doctors had recommended
Queen Wilhelmina to take a three-week's cure of
pure, keen air; and that was why they had selected
Aix, or rather the Corbières, a spot situated at
2,000 feet above Aix, on the slope of the Grand
Revard.</p>
<p>It goes without saying that there was no hotel
there; and the only villa in the neighbourhood had
to be hired for the Queens' use. This was a large
wooden chalet, standing at the skirt of a pine-forest,
close to the hamlet. The wintry wind
whistled under the doors and howled down the
chimneys; there was no central heating-apparatus
and huge fires were lit in every room. From the
windows of this rustic dwelling, the eye took in
the amphitheatre of the mountains of Savoy and
their deep and beautiful valleys; and, above the
thatched roofs ensconced among the trees, one
saw little columns of blue smoke rise trembling to
the sky.</p>
<p>Snow began to fall on the day after our arrival.
It soon covered the mountains all around with a
cloak of dazzling white, spread a soft carpet over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
the meadows before the house and powdered the
long tresses of the pines with hoar-frost. A great
silence ensued; I seemed to be living more and more
in the midst of a fairy-tale.</p>
<p>The court settled down as best it could. The
two Queens occupied three unpretending rooms on
the first floor; the royal suite divided the other
apartments among them; some of the servants were
lodged in a neighbouring farm-house. As for myself,
I was bound to keep in daily telegraphic touch
with Paris and with the prefect of the department;
and I found it more convenient to sleep at Aix. I
went up to the Corbières every morning by the
funicular railway, which had been reopened for the
use of our royal guests, and went down again,
every evening, by the same route.</p>
<p>The two Queens, who appeared to revel in this
stern solitude, had planned out for themselves a
regular and methodical mode of life. They were
up by eight o'clock in the morning and walked to
the hamlet, chatted with the peasants and cowherds
and, after a short stroll, returned to the villa,
where Queen Emma, who, at that period, was still
exercising the functions of regent, dispatched her
affairs of State, while little Queen Wilhelmina employed
her time in studying or drawing, for she
was a charming and gifted draughtswoman. She
loved nothing more than to jot down from life, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
to speak, such rustic scenes as offered: peasant-lads
leading their cows to the fields, or girls knitting
or sewing on the threshold of their doors. The
people round about came to know of this; they also
knew that Her Majesty was in the habit of generously
rewarding her willing models. And so, as
soon as she had installed herself by the roadside,
or in her garden, with her sketch-book and pencils,
cows or little pigs accompanied by their owners,
would spring up as though by magic!</p>
<p>I have said that the Queens were in the habit of
taking their meals alone. Nevertheless, outside
meals, they mingled very readily with the members
of their suite, whom they honoured with an affectionate
familiarity.</p>
<p>The afternoons—whatever the weather might be—were
devoted to long walks, on which Queen
Wilhelmina used to set out accompanied generally
by one or two ladies-in-waiting and a chamberlain;
sometimes I would go with her myself. Queen
Emma, knowing her daughter's indefatigable
venturesomeness, had given up accompanying her
on her expeditions. We often returned covered
with snow, our faces blue with the cold, our boots
soaked through; but it made no difference; the little
Queen was delighted. She dusted her gaiters,
shook her skirt and her pale golden hair that hung
over her shoulders and said:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p>
<p>"I wish it were to-morrow and that we were starting
out again!"</p>
<h3 class="p2">2.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">Queen Wilhelmina was very expansive in her
manner and yet very thoughtful. Brought up in
the strictest principles by a watchful and inflexible
mother, she had learnt from childhood to shirk
neither work nor fatigue, to brave the inclemencies
of the weather, to distinguish herself alike in
bodily and in mental exercises, in short, to prepare
herself in the most serious fashion for her duties as
Queen and to realise all the hopes that were
centred on her young head.</p>
<p>I often had occasion, during my stay at the Corbières,
to notice the thoroughness of her education.
She already spoke four languages, in addition to
her mother-tongue, fluently: French, Russian,
English and German. She interested herself in
agricultural matters and was not unacquainted
with social questions: for instance, she often made
me talk to her about the condition of the workmen
in France and the organisation of our administrative
systems; nay, more, she was beginning to study
both judicial and constitutional law. I would not,
however, go so far as to say that this study aroused
her enthusiasm: she preferred I believe, to read
historical books; she took a great interest in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>
Napoleonic idyll and, knowing me to be a fellow-countryman
of Bonaparte:</p>
<p>"You must feel very sorry," she said to me, one
day, "that you came too late to have seen him!"</p>
<p>She also liked to talk to me about her ponies:</p>
<p>"I have four," she told me, "and I drive them
four-in-hand."</p>
<p>I was often invited to share the meals of the
miniature court and to take my seat at the table
of the chamberlains and ladies-in-waiting, which
was presided over, with charming courtesy and
geniality, by my excellent friend Count Du Monceau,
who, although a Dutch general, was of
French origin, as his name shows.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p>
<p>At one of these dinners, I met with a little mishap
which gave a great shock to both my patriotism
and to my natural greediness. The cook of the
villa, M. Perreard, was a native of Marseilles and
owned an hotel at Cannes, where I had made his
acquaintance. In his twofold capacity as a Marseillese
and a cook, he was a great hand at making
bouillabaisse, the national dish of the people of the
south. Now, as he knew that I was very fond of
this dainty, he said to me one day, with a great air
of mystery:</p>
<p>"M. Paoli, I have a pleasant surprise in store for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>
you at lunch this morning. I have sent to Marseilles
for fish and shell-fish so as to give you a
bouillabaisse cooked in the way you know of. Not
another word! But they'll have a good time up
there, I can tell you, those people from the north
who have never tasted it!"</p>
<p>As soon as we had sat down, I saw with delight
the great soup-tureen, whence escaped a delicious
fragrance of bouillabaisse. The members of the
royal suite cast inquisitive glances at this dish unknown
to them and prepared to do honour to
it with a good grace. Before tasting it myself, I
watched the expression of their faces. Alas, a
grievous disappointment awaited me! Hardly had
they touched their spoons with their lips, when they
gave vent to their disgust in different ways.
Baroness van Ittersum made a significant grimace,
while Jonkheer van Pabst pushed away his plate
and Baroness Rengers suppressed a gesture of repugnance.</p>
<p>However, out of consideration for my feelings,
they were silent: so was I. They waited in all
kindness for me to enjoy my treat; but one act of
politeness deserves another; there was nothing for
me to do, in my turn, but to forego my share, all
the more so as I did not feel inclined to present the
ridiculous spectacle of a man eating by himself a
thing which all his neighbours loathe and detest.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p>
<p>The bouillabaisse, therefore, disappeared
straightway, untouched and still steaming, beating,
as it were, a silent retreat. But I will not attempt
to describe the rage which M. Perreard subsequently
poured into my ear....</p>
<h3 class="p2">3.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">When the Queen had explored all the woods and
ravines close at hand, she naturally wished to extend
the radius of her excursions. She was a fearless
walker and was not to be thwarted by the steepest
paths, even when these were filled with snow in
which one's feet sank up to the ankles. I urgently
begged the young sovereign never to venture
far afield without first informing me of her
intentions. As a matter of fact, I knew how easy
it was to lose one's self in the maze of mountains,
where one loses the trace of any road; and I was
also afraid of unpleasant meetings, for Savoy is
often infested with strangers from beyond the
Piedmontese frontier who come to France in search
of work.</p>
<p>Lastly there was "the black man." The legend
of this black man was current throughout the district,
where it spread a secret terror. Stories were
told in the hamlet of a man dressed in black from
head to foot, who roamed at nightfall through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>
neighbouring forests. He had eyes of fire and was
frightfully lean.</p>
<p>The peasants were convinced that it was a ghost,
for he never answered when spoken to and disappeared
as soon as anyone drew near. I did not,
of course, share the superstitious terrors of the inhabitants
of the Corbières; but I thought that the
ghost might be just some tramp or marauder and
I did not care for the Queens to come across him.
Imagine my alarm, therefore, when, one afternoon,
after I had gone down to Aix-les-Bains, I was
handed the following laconic telegram:</p>
<p class="pq0 p1">"Queen gone walk without giving notice late in returning."</p>
<p class="pn p1">To jump into the funicular railway and go back
to the Corbières was for me the work of a few
minutes. There I heard that Queen Wilhelmina
had gone out with her two ladies-in-waiting, saying
that she meant to take a little exercise, as she
had not been out all day, and that she would be
back in an hour. Two hours had since elapsed, the
Queen had not returned and Queen Emma was
beginning to feel seriously alarmed.</p>
<p>I at once rushed out in search of Her Majesty,
questioning the people whom I met on my way.
No one had seen her. I ran into the forest, where
I knew that she was fond of going; I called out;
no reply. More and more anxious, I was about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>
to hunt in another direction, when my eyes fell upon
traces of feet that had left their imprint on the
snow. I examined them: the foot-prints were too
small to belong to a man; they had evidently been
made by women's shoes. I therefore followed the
trail as carefully as an Indian hunter. Nor was I
mistaken: after half-an-hour's walk, I heard clear
voices calling out and soon I saw the little Queen
arrive, happy and careless, followed by her two
companions:</p>
<p>"Well, M. Paoli, you were running after us, I
will bet. Just think, we got lost, without knowing,
and were looking for our way. It was great
fun!"</p>
<p>I did not venture to admit that I was far from
sharing this opinion and I confined myself to warning
the Queen that her mother was anxious.</p>
<p>"Then let us hurry back as fast as we can," she
said, her face suddenly becoming overcast.</p>
<p>And I have no doubt that Her Majesty, on returning,
was soundly scolded.</p>
<p>Strangely enough, I was able to lay my hand on
"the black man" on the evening of the very same
day. It was a very clear night, with the moon shining
on the snow-clad mountains, and I resolved to
go down to Aix on foot, instead of using the funicular
railway. I therefore took the path that led
through the wood; and, on reaching a glade at a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>
few yards from the royal villa, I perceived a
shadow that appeared to be hiding behind the
trees.</p>
<p>"There's the famous black man," I thought.</p>
<p>But, as the shadow had all the air of an animal
of the human species, I also contemplated the possible
presence of an anarchist charged to watch the
approaches to the royal residence. I took out my
revolver and shouted:</p>
<p>"Who goes there?"</p>
<p>"I, monsieur le commissaire!" replied a familiar
voice, while the shadow took shape, emerged from
the trees, stepped forward and gave the military
salute.</p>
<p>I then recognised one of my own inspectors,
whom I had instructed to go the rounds of the
precincts of the Queens' chalet nightly. He was
the individual who had been taken for "the black
man." However, he seemed none the worse for it.</p>
<h3 class="p2">4.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">When the Queen had visited all the places in the
immediate neighbourhood of the Corbières and
tasted sufficiently of the pleasure of looking upon
herself as a new Little Red Riding-hood in her wild
solitudes, or a new Sleeping Beauty (whose Prince
Charming was not to come until many years later),
she expressed the wish to go on the longer excursions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>
which the country-side afforded. We therefore
set out, one fine morning, for the Abbey of
Hautecombe, situated on the banks of the poetic
Lac du Bourget, which inspired Lamartine with
one of his most beautiful meditations.</p>
<p>Although standing on French territory, the old
Abbey occupied by the Cistercian monks continues
to belong to Italy, or, at least, remains the property
of the royal house by virtue of an agreement made
between the two governments at the time of the
French annexation of Savoy in 1860. It contains
forty-three tombs of Princes and Princesses of
the House of Savoy. All the ancestors of King
Victor-Emanuel, from Amadeus V to Humbert
III lie under the charge of the White Fathers in
this ancient monastery full of silence and majesty.
Their mausoleums are carved, for the most part,
by the chisels of illustrious sculptors; they stand
side by side in the great nave of the chapel, which
is in the form of a Latin cross, with vaults painted
sky-blue and transepts peopled with upwards of
three-hundred statues in Carrara marble. These,
crowded together within that narrow fabric, form
as it were a motionless and reflective crowd watching
over the dead.</p>
<p>The visitor bends over the tombs and reads the
names inscribed upon them; and all the adventurous,
chivalrous, heroic and gallant history of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>
House of Savoy comes to life again. Here lies
Amadeus, surnamed the Red Count, and Philibert
I the Hunter; further on, we come to Maria
Christina of Bourbon-Savoy, Joan of Montfort,
and Boniface of Savoy, the prince who became
Archbishop of Canterbury;<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> further still is the tomb
of the young and charming Yolande of Montferrat,
who sleeps beside her father, Aymon the Peaceful.
Lastly, at the entrance of the church, in the chapel
of Our Lady of the Angels, stands the sarcophagus
of Charles Félix, King of Sardinia, who restored
Hautecombe in 1842. The old standard of the
Bodyguards of the Savoy Company shelters him
beneath its folds, which have ceased to flutter many
a long century ago.</p>
<p>This fine historical lesson within a monastic
sanctuary interested the two Dutch Queens greatly.
It made Queen Wilhelmina very thoughtful, especially
at a given moment when the monk who
acted as her guide said, with a touch of pride in
his voice:</p>
<p>"The House of Savoy is a glorious house!"</p>
<p>After a second's pause, the little Queen replied:</p>
<p>"So is the House of Orange!..."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p>
<p>A few days after our excursion to Hautecombe,
we went to visit the Cascade de Grésy, a sort of
furious torrent in which Marshal Ney's sister, the
Baronne de Broc, was drowned in 1818 before the
eyes of Queen Hortense, the mother of Napoleon
III. We also drove to the Gorges du Fier, in
which no human being had dared to venture before
1869. Queen Wilhelmina, ever eager for emotional
impressions, insisted on penetrating at all
costs through the narrow passage that leads into
the gorges. The Queen Mother lived through
minutes of agony that day, although I did my best
to persuade Her Majesty that her daughter was
not really incurring any danger. But there is no
convincing an anxious mother!</p>
<p>Stimulated by these various excursions, the little
Queen said to me, one morning:</p>
<p>"M. Paoli, I have formed a great plan. My
mother approves. I want to go and see the Grande
Chartreuse."</p>
<p>"That is easily done," I replied, "but it will take
a whole day, for the monastery is a good distance
from here."</p>
<p>"Well, M. Paoli, arrange the excursion as you
think best: with the snow on the ground, it will be
magnificent!"</p>
<p>I wrote to the Father Superior to tell him of the
Queen's wish. He answered by return that, to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
great regret, he was unable to open the doors of
the monastery to women, even though they were
Queens, without the express authorisation of the
Pope. And indeed I remembered that the same
objection had arisen some years earlier, when I
wanted to take Queen Victoria to the Grande Chartreuse:
I had to apply to Rome on that occasion
also.</p>
<p>I therefore hastened to communicate the answer
to General Du Monceau, who at once telegraphed
to Cardinal Rampolla, at that time Secretary of
State to the Holy See. Cardinal Rampolla telegraphed
the same evening that the Pope granted
the necessary authority.</p>
<p>These diplomatic preliminaries gave an additional
zest to our expedition. For it was a genuine
expedition. We left Aix-les-Bains at eight o'clock
in the morning, by special train, for Saint-Béron,
which was then the terminus of the railway, before
entering the great mountain. Here, two landaus
with horses and postilions awaited us. The two
Queens and their ladies stepped into one of the
carriages; General Du Monceau, the officers of the
suite and I occupied the other; and we started. It
was eleven o'clock in the morning and we had a
three hours' drive before us. Notwithstanding the
intense cold, a flood of sunshine fell upon the immense
frozen and deserted mountain-mass and lit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
up with a blinding flame the long sheets of snow that
lay stretching to the horizon, where they seemed to
be merged in the deep blue of the sky. No sign of
life appeared in that sea of mountains, amid the
throng of dissimilar summits, some blunt, some
pointed, but all girt at their base with huge pine-forests.
Only the rhythmical tinkling of our
harness-bells disturbed the deep silence.</p>
<p>We began to feel the pangs of hunger after an
hour's driving. I had foreseen that we should find
no inn on the road and had taken care to have
baskets of provisions stored in the boot of each carriage
at Saint-Béron.</p>
<p>"That's a capital idea," said Queen Wilhelmina.
"You shall lunch with us. I will lay the cloth!"</p>
<p>The carriages had stopped in the middle of the
road, in the vast solitude, opposite the prodigious
panorama of white mountains and gloomy valleys.
The little Queen spread a large table-napkin over
our knees. From the depths of a hamper, she produced
a cold chicken, rolls and butter and solemnly
announced:</p>
<p>"Luncheon is served."</p>
<p>Served by a Queen, in a carriage, on a mountain-top:
that was an incident lacking to my collection,
as King Alfonso would have said! I need hardly
add that this picturesque luncheon was extremely
lively and that not a vestige of it remained when,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
at two o'clock, we approached the Grande Chartreuse.</p>
<p>We caught sight first of the square tower, then
of the great slate roofs, then of the countless
steeples, until, at last, in the fold of a valley, the
impressive block of buildings came into view, all
grey amidst its white setting and backed by the
snow-covered forests scrambling to the summit of
the Col de la Ruchère. Perched amidst this immaculate
steppe, among those spurs bristling with
contorted and threatening rocks, as though in some
apocalyptic landscape, the cold, stern, proud convent
froze us with a nameless terror: it seemed to us
as though we had reached the mysterious regions of
a Wagnerian Walhalla; the fairy-tale had turned
into a legend, through which the flaxen-haired
figure of the little Queen passed like a light and
airy shadow.</p>
<p>All the inhabitants of the monastery stood awaiting
the Queens at the threshold of the gateway.
The monks were grouped around their superior;
their white frocks mingled with the depths of the
immense corridor, the endless straight line of which
showed through the open door.</p>
<p>The Father Superior stepped forward to greet
the two Queens. Tall in stature, with the face of
an ascetic, a pair of piercing eyes, an harmonious
voice and a cold dignity combined with an exquisite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>
courtesy, lie had the grand manner of the well-bred
man of the world:</p>
<p>"Welcome to Your Majesties," he said, slowly,
with a bow.</p>
<p>The Queens, a little awestruck, made excuses for
their curiosity; and the inspection began. The
monks led their royal visitors successively through
the cloister, the refectories, the fine library, which
at that time contained over twenty-thousand
volumes, the rooms devoted to work and meditation,
each of which bore the name of a country or province,
because formerly they served as meeting-places
for the priors of the charter-houses of each
of those countries or provinces. They showed their
kitchen, with its table formed of a block of marble
nine yards long and its chimney of colossal proportions.
They threw open the great chapter-house
decorated with twenty-two portraits of the
generals of the order from its foundation and
furnished with lofty stalls in which the monks used
to come and sit when, twice a year, they held their
secret assembly. They showed their exiguous cells,
with their tiled floors and whitewashed walls, each
containing a truckle-bed, a praying-chair, a table,
a crucifix and a window opening upon the vast
and splendid horizon of the fierce mountains beyond.
Lastly, they showed their church, with its
Gothic carvings surmounted by a statue of death,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>
and their desolate and monotonous cemetery, in
which only the graves of the priors are distinguished
by a wooden cross. But they did not show their
relics and their precious sacred books. I expressed
my astonishment at this; and one of the fathers replied,
coldly:</p>
<p>"That is because the Queens are heretics. We
only show them to Catholics."</p>
<p>Queen Wilhelmina, who had gradually recovered
her assurance, plied the superior with questions, to
which he replied with a perfect good grace. When,
at last, the walk through the maze of passages and
cloisters was finished, the Queen hesitated and then
asked:</p>
<p>"And the chartreuse? Don't you make that
here?"</p>
<p>"Certainly, Ma'am," said the prior, "but we did
not think that our distillery could interest Your
Majesty."</p>
<p>"Oh, but it does!" answered the Queen, with a
smile. "I want to see everything."</p>
<p>We were then taken to the "Mill," situated at
an hour's distance from the monastery, where the
Carthusians, with their sleeves turned back, prepared
the delicious liqueur the secret of which they
have now taken with them in their exile. The
Queens put their lips to a glass of yellow elixir
offered to them by the superior and accepted a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>
bottles as a present. The visit had interested them
prodigiously.</p>
<p>Half an hour later, we had left the convent far
behind us in its stately solitude and were driving
down the other slope of the mountain to Grenoble,
where we were to find a special train to take us back
to Aix-les-Bains. When we approached the old
Dauphiné capital, the day had turned into a night
of black and icy darkness; in front of us, in the
depths of the valley, all the lamps of the great city
displayed their thousands of twinkling lights; and
Queen Wilhelmina kept on exclaiming:</p>
<p>"How beautiful! How delighted I am!"</p>
<p>She was not so well pleased—nor was I—when,
at the gate of the town, we saw cyclists who appeared
to be on the lookout for our carriages and
who darted off as scouts before our landaus as soon
as they perceived us. These mysterious proceedings
were all the more insoluble to me as I had
taken care not to inform the authorities of Grenoble
that the Queens intended to pass through their city,
knowing as I did, on the one hand, that the municipal
council was composed of socialists and, on the
other, that Their Majesties wished to preserve the
strictest incognito. But I had reckoned without the
involuntary indiscretion of the railway staff, who
had allowed the fact to leak out that a special train
had been ordered for the sovereigns; and, as no one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>
is more anxious to receive a smile from royalty than
the stern, uncompromising adherents of Messrs.
Jaurès & Co., the first arm that was respectfully
put out to assist Queen Wilhelmina to alight from
the carriage was that of the socialist senator who,
that year, was serving as Mayor of Grenoble. He
was all honey; he had prepared a speech; he had provided
a band. Willy-nilly, we had to submit to an
official reception. True, we were amply compensated,
as the train steamed out of the station, by
hearing cries of "Long live the Queen!" issuing from
the throats of men who spent the rest of the year
in shouting, "Down with tyrants!"</p>
<p>Such is the eternal comedy of politics and mankind.</p>
<h3 class="p2">5.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">The Queens' stay at the Corbières was drawing to
a close. We had exhausted all the walks and excursions;
the cold was becoming daily more intense;
the icy wind whistled louder than ever under the
ill-fitting doors. At the royal chalet, the little
Queen was growing tired of sketching young herds
with their flocks or old peasant-women combing
wool. One morning, General Du Monceau said to
me:</p>
<p>"Their Majesties have decided to go to Italy
They will start for Milan the day after to-morrow."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p>
<p>Two days later, I left them at the frontier; and,
as I was taking my leave of them:</p>
<p>"We shall meet again," said Queen Wilhelmina.
"I am longing to see Paris."</p>
<p>She did not realise her wish until two years later.
It was in the spring of 1898—a year made memorable
in her life because it marked her political
majority and the commencement of her real reign—that,
accompanied by her mother, she paid a first
visit to Paris on her way to Cannes for the wedding
of Prince Christian cf Denmark (the present
Crown-prince) and the Grand-duchess Mary of
Mecklenburg-Strelitz.</p>
<p>"Do you remember the day when we went to the
Grande Chartreuse?" were her first words on seeing
me.</p>
<p>She still had her bright, childish glance, but she
now wore her pretty hair done up high, as befitted
her age, and her figure had filled out in a way that
seemed to accentuate her radiant air of youth.</p>
<p>Anecdotes were told of her playfulness that contrasted
strangely with her sedate appearance.
Chief among them was the well-known story according
to which she loved to tease her English governess,
Miss Saxton Winter: all Holland had heard
how, one day, when drawing a map of Europe, she
amused herself by enlarging the frontiers of the
Netherlands out of all proportion and considerably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>
reducing those of great Britain. Another story
was that, having regretfully failed to induce the
postal authorities to alter her portrait on the Dutch
stamps, which still represented her as a little girl,
with her hair down, she never omitted with her own
pen to correct the postage-stamps which she used
for her private correspondence!</p>
<p>These childish ways did not prevent her from
manifesting a keen interest in poetry and art. Her
favourite reading was represented by Sir Walter
Scott and Alexandre Dumas the Elder; but she
also read books on history and painting with the
greatest pleasure. She had acquired a remarkable
erudition on these subjects in the course of her
studies, as I had occasion to learn during our visits
to the museums, especially the Louvre. She was
familiar with the Italian and French schools of
painting as with the Dutch and Flemish, although
she maintained a preference for Rembrandt:</p>
<p>"I should like him to have a statue in every town
in Holland!" she used to say.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, the artistic beauties of Paris did
not, of course, absorb her attention to the extent
of causing her to disregard the attractions and
temptations which our capital offers to the curiosity
of a young and elegant woman who does not scorn
the fascination of dress. Queen Wilhelmina used
to go into ecstasies over the beauty and luxury of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>
our shops; and Queen Emma would have the greatest
difficulty in dragging her from the windows of
the tradesmen in the Rue Royale and the Rue de la
Paix. It nearly always ended with a visit to the
shop and the making of numerous purchases.</p>
<p>The little Queen won the affection of all with
whom she came into contact by her simplicity, her
frankness and the charming innocence with which
she indulged in the sheer delight of living. Although
possessed of an easy and ready admiration,
she remained Dutch at heart and professed a proud
and exclusive patriotism.</p>
<p>"I can understand," said President Félix Faure
to me, on the day after the visit which he paid to
the two Queens, "that the Dutch nation shows an
exemplary loyalty to Queen Wilhelmina. It recognises
itself in her."</p>
<p>Indeed, nowhere is the sovereign more securely
installed than in Holland, nor does the work of
government proceed anywhere more smoothly. In
Holland, constitutional rule performs its functions
automatically, while the budget balances regularly,
year by year, thanks to the colonies and trade.
Happy country. What other state can say as much
to-day?</p>
<p>A week after their arrival in Paris, the two
Queens left for Cannes. I had been called south
by my service in waiting on Queen Victoria, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>
had just gone to Cannes herself, and I was obliged
to leave a few days before Their Majesties. But
I met them again at the Danish wedding, which was
so picturesque and poetic in its Mediterranean setting.</p>
<p>I saw Queen Wilhelmina for the last time shortly
before her departure for Holland. It was in the
late afternoon, at the moment when the sun was
on the point of disappearing behind the palm-trees
in the garden of the hotel where the Queen of England
had taken up her residence. Queen Wilhelmina
had come to say good-bye; she was standing
in an attitude of timid deference before the old
sovereign seated in her bath-chair. Both Queens
were smiling and talking merrily. Then Wilhelmina,
stooped, kissed Queen Victoria on the forehead
and tripped away lightly in the golden rays of
the setting sun.</p>
<p>She has not returned to France since then.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a><br /><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a><br /><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">VIII</h2>
<p class="pn center p2 large">THE LATE KING OF THE BELGIANS</p>
<h3 class="p2">1.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">Of all the sovereigns with whom I have been
connected in the course of my career, Leopold
II is perhaps the one whom I knew
best, with the circumstances of whose private life
I was most intimately acquainted and whose
thoughts and soul I was nevertheless least able to
fathom, for the simple reason that his thoughts were
impenetrable and his soul remained closed. Was
this due to excessive egotism or supreme indifference?
To both, perhaps. He was as baffling as a
puzzle, carried banter occasionally to the verge of
insolence and cynicism to that of cruelty; and, if, at
times, he yielded to fits of noisy gaiety, if, from
behind the rough exterior, there sometimes shot an
impulse of unexpected kindness, these were but
passing gleams. He promptly recovered his wonderful
self-control; and those about him were too
greatly fascinated by his intelligence to seek to understand
his habit of mind or heart. And yet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>
though fascinating, he was as uncommunicative as
it is possible to be; he possessed none of the external
attractions of the intellect which captivate and
charm; but, whenever he deigned to grant you the
honour of an interview, however brief, you at once
discovered in him a prodigious brain, a luminous
perspicacity and critical powers of amazing subtlety
and keenness.</p>
<p>No sovereign used—and abused—all the springs
of his physical and moral activity, to a greater extent
than did Leopold II to his dying day. An
everlasting traveller, passing without cessation from
a motor-car into a train, from a train on to a boat,
caring little for the delights of sleep, he worked continuously,
whether in the presence of some fine view,
or at sea, or at meals, or in the train, or in his hotel,
or on a walk; the place and the hour mattered to
him but little.</p>
<p>"Monsieur l'officier, take down!" he would say
to his equerry, at the most unexpected moment.</p>
<p>And "monsieur l'officier"—his only form of address
for the officers of his suite—drew out a notebook,
seized a pencil and took down "by way of
memorandum," to the slow, precise and certain dictation
of the king, the wording of a letter, a report
or a scheme relating to the multifarious operations in
which Leopold II was interested. Contrary to
the majority of monarchs, who took with them on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>
their holidays a regular arsenal of papers and a
very library of records, Leopold carried in the way
of reference books, nothing but a little English-French
dictionary, which he slipped into the pocket
of his overcoat and consulted for the purpose of the
voluminous correspondence which he conducted in
connexion with Congo affairs:</p>
<p>"It is no use my knowing English thoroughly,"
he confessed to me, one day. "Those British officials
sometimes employ phrases of which I do not always
grasp the full meaning and scope. I must
fish out my lexicon!"</p>
<p>On the other hand, he had needed no assistance in
order to work out his complicated and gigantic financial
combinations. He possessed, if I may say
so, the bump of figures. For hours at a time, he
would indulge in intricate calculations and his accounts
never showed a hesitation or an erasure. In
the same way, when abroad, he treated affairs of
state with a like lucidity. If he thought it useful
to consult a specialist in certain matters, he would
send for him to come to where he was, question him
and send him away, often after teaching the expert
a good many things about his own profession
which he did not know before. And the king thereupon
made up his mind in the full exercise of his independent
and sovereign will.</p>
<p>"My ministers," he would say, with that jeering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>
air of his, "are often idiots. But they can afford the
luxury: they have only to do as I tell them."</p>
<p>Leopold II did not always, however, take this
view of the constitutional monarchy. For instance,
a few months before his death, one of his ministers
was reading a report to him in the presence of the
heir presumptive—now King Albert—when the
wind, blowing through the open window of the
royal waiting-room, sent a bundle of papers, on
the King's desk, flying all over the carpet. The
minister was rushing forward to pick them up, when
the King caught him by the sleeve and, turning to
his nephew, said:</p>
<p>"Pick them up yourself."</p>
<p>And, when the minister protested:</p>
<p>"Leave him alone," whispered Leopold. "A
future constitutional sovereign must learn to
stoop!"</p>
<p>An autocrat in his actions, he affected to be a
democrat in his principles.</p>
<p>It matters little whether his methods were reprehensible
or not: history will say that Leopold II
was to Belgium the artisan of an unequalled prosperity,
although it is true that he was nearly always
absent from his country. The fact is that
he loved France at least as well as Belgium. He
loved the Riviera and, above all, he loved the
capital. He had the greatest difficulty in dragging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>
his white beard away from the Paris radius;
and, when, by chance, it was eclipsed for a week
or two, it continued to figure in the magazines, in
the illustrated and comic papers and on the posters
that advertised cheap tailors, tonic pills or recuperative
nostrums. Leopold II, therefore, was
a Parisian personality in the full glory of the word.
True, he never achieved the air of elegance that
distinguished Edward VII. You would have
looked for him in vain on the balcony of the club,
on the asphalt of the boulevards, in a stage-box
at the theatre, in the paddock at Longchamp.
But, should you happen to meet in the Tuileries
Gardens, in the old streets of the Latin Quarter
or, more likely still, along the quays, a man
wrapped in a long dark ulster, wearing a pair of
galoshes over his enormous boots and a black
bowler on his head, carrying in his hand an umbrella
that had seen better days and under his arm
a bundle of yellow-backed books or a knickknack
of some sort packed up anyhow in a newspaper;
should you catch sight of a lean and lanky Ghent
burgess rooted in silent contemplation of the front
of the Louvre, or the porch of Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
or the gates of the École des Beaux-Arts;
should you perceive him haggling for a
musty old book at the corner of the Pont des
Saints-Pères and counting the money twice over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>
before paying, then you could safely have gone
home and said:</p>
<p>"I saw the King of the Belgians to-day."</p>
<p>I often accompanied him on these strolls in the
course of which the artist and book-lover that lay
hidden in him found many an occasion for secret
and silent joys; for the King, who hated music,
who bored himself at the theatre and who despised
every manifestation of the art of to-day, had a
real passion for old pictures, fine architecture, rare
curiosities and flowers.</p>
<p>"Monsieur le commissaire," he would often say,
with his fondness for official titles, in his strong
Belgian accent, "we will go for an excursion to-day
with monsieur l'officier."</p>
<p>And the "excursion" nearly always ended by
taking us to some old curiosity shop or to the
Musée Carnavalet, or to the flower-market on the
Quai de la Tournelle.</p>
<p>In the later years of his life, however, he had to
give up his walks in town: he was attacked by sciatica,
which stiffened his left leg and prevented him
from walking except with the aid of two sticks or
leaning on his secretary's arm. Also, the fact that
he had—not always justly—been made the absurd
hero of certain gay adventures, subjected him to
an irksome popularity which caused him genuine
annoyance. He was ridiculed in the music-halls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>
and in the scandal-mongering press; caricatures of
him were displayed in all the newsvendors' windows.</p>
<p>This stupid and sometimes spiteful interest in
his movements was a positive affliction to him. We
did our best, of course, to prevent his seeing the
satirical drawings in which he figured in attitudes
unbecoming to the dignity of a king; but we did
not always succeed. Fortunately, his sense of humour
exceeded any grudge which he may have felt.
Remembering that he possessed an astonishing
double in the person of an old Parisian called M.
Mabille, he never failed to exclaim when, by some
unlucky chance, his eyes fell upon a caricature of
his royal features:</p>
<p>"There, they're teasing that unfortunate M.
Mabille again! And how like me he is! Lord,
how like me he is!"</p>
<p>His habit of icy chaff made one feel perpetually
ill at ease when he happened to be in a conversational
vein. One never knew if he was serious or
joking. This tall, rough-hewn old man had a trick
of stinging repartee under an outward appearance
of innocent good-nature and, better than anyone
that I have ever met, understood the delicate art
of teaching a lesson to those who ventured upon an
improper remark or an unseemly familiarity in his
presence.</p>
<p>One evening, at a reception which he was giving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>
to the authorities in his chalet at Ostende, the venerable
rector of the parish came up to him with an
air of concern and drawing him respectfully aside,
said:</p>
<p>"Sir, I feel profoundly grieved. There is a
rumour, I am sorry to say, that your Majesty's
private life is not marked by the austerity suited
to the lofty and difficult task which the Lord has
laid upon the monarchs of this earth. Remember,
Sir, that it behooves kings to set an example to
their subjects."</p>
<p>And the worthy rector, taking courage from the
fact that he had known Leopold II for thirty years,
preached him a long sermon. The penitent, adopting
an air of contrition, listened to the homily without
moving a muscle. When, at last, the priest
had exhausted his eloquence:</p>
<p>"What a funny thing, monsieur le curé!" murmured
the King, fixing him with that cold glance
of his, from under his wrinkled eyelids. "Do you
know, people have told me exactly the same thing
about you! Only I refused to believe it, you
know!"<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p>
<p>That was a delicious sally, too, in which he indulged
at the expense of a certain Brazilian minister,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>
who was paying his first visit to court, and
who appeared to be under the impression that the
King was hard of hearing. At any rate, he made
the most extraordinary efforts to speak loud and
to pronounce his words distinctly. The King
maintained an impassive countenance, but ended by
interrupting him:</p>
<p>"Excuse me, monsieur le ministre," he said, with
an exquisite smile. "I'm not deaf, you know: it's
my brother!"</p>
<p>Picture the diplomatist's face!</p>
<p>Lastly, let me recall his caustic reply to one of
our most uncompromising radical deputies, who
was being received in audience and who, falling
under the spell of King Leopold's obvious intelligence,
said to him, point-blank:</p>
<p>"Sir, I am a republican. I do not hold with
monarchies and kings. Nevertheless, I recognise
your great superiority and I confess that you would
make an admirable president of a republic!"</p>
<p>"Really?" replied the King, with his most ingenuous
air. "Really? Do you know, I think I
shall pay a compliment in your style to my physician,
Dr. Thirier, who is coming to see me presently.
I shall say, 'Thirier, you are a great doctor
and I think you would make an excellent veterinary
surgeon!'"</p>
<p>The poor opinion which he entertained of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>
republic, as this story would appear to show, did
not prevent him from treating it with the greatest
respect. Of all the foreign sovereigns, Leopold II
was certainly the one who kept up the most cordial
relations with our successive presidents. At each
of his visits to Paris, he never failed to go to the
Élysée. He called as a neighbour, as a friend
without even announcing his visit beforehand.
When M. Fallières was elected President at the
Versailles congress, the first visit which he received,
on his return to the Senate, where he was then living,
was that of Leopold II.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, whatever personal sympathy he
may have felt for France, the King of the Belgians
always turned a deaf ear to sentimental considerations;
and there is no reason why we should ascribe
to such considerations the very marked courtesy
which he showed to the official republican world.
In my opinion, this attitude is due to several causes.
In the first place, he reckoned that France was a
useful factor in the development of Belgian prosperity
and that it was wise to increase the economic
links that united the two countries. On the other
hand, what would have become of his colonial enterprise
in the Congo, if France had taken sides
with England, which was displaying a violent hostility
against him? Lastly, this paradoxical monarch,
who always governed through Catholic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>
ministries at home, because that was the wish expressed
by the majority of votes, was, I firmly
believe, a free-thinker at heart and was pleased to
find that our rulers entertained views which corresponded
with his own secret tendencies.</p>
<p>The fact is that Leopold II looked at everything
from two points of view: that of practical reality
and that of his own selfishness. The King had in
his veins the blood of the Coburgs mixed with that
of the d'Orlèans, two highly intelligent families,
but utterly devoid of sentiment or sensibility; and
he treated life as an equation which it was his business
to solve by any methods, no matter which, so
long as the result corresponded with that which he
had assigned to it beforehand.</p>
<p>He had an extraordinarily observant mind, was
marvellously familiar with the character of his people,
its weaknesses and its vanities and played upon
these with the firm, yet delicate touch of a pianist
who feels himself to be a perfect master of his instrument
and of its effects. His cleverness as a
constitutional sovereign consisted in appearing to
follow the movements of public opinion, whereas,
in reality, he directed and sometimes even provoked
them.</p>
<p>Thus, in 1884, when the violent reaction of the
Catholics against the anti-clerical policy of M.
Frère-Orban culminated in the return of the conservatives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>
to power, one might have thought that
the Crown, which until then had supported the
liberal policy and favoured the secularisation of the
schools, would find itself in a curiously difficult position
and that the check administered to M. Frère-Orban
would amount to a check administered to
the King himself. Not at all. Leopold II, sheltering
himself behind his duties as a constitutional
sovereign, became, from one day to the next, as
firm a supporter of the Catholic party as he had
been, till then, of the liberals. Nay, more, I have
learnt since that he had a hand in the change of
attitude on the part of parliament and the nation.
As I have hinted above, his personal sympathies
lay on the side of the liberal party; but, with the
perspicacity that was all his own, he was not slow
in perceiving the spectre of budding socialism which
was beginning to loom behind Voltairean liberalism.
He suspected its dangers; and he did not
hesitate to give a sudden turn to the right to the
ship of state of which he looked upon himself as
the responsible pilot. And this position he maintained
until the end of his days without, for a moment,
laying aside any of his personal preferences.</p>
<h3 class="p2">2.</h3>
<p class=" pn p1 b1">My first meeting with Leopold II dates back to
1896. The King had prone to the Riviera, accompanied
by his charming daughter, Princess Clémentine,
now Princess Napoleon, who, from that
time onward, filled in relation to her father the part
of the Antigone of a tempestuous old age. I shall
never forget my surprise when the King, who had
made the long railway-journey from Brussels to
Nice without a stop, said to his chamberlain, Baron
Snoy, as they left the station:</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-326.jpg" width="400" height="576"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">KING LEOPOLD II.</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">"Send away the carriage, monsieur le chambellan.
We'll go to the hotel on foot. I want to stretch
my legs a bit!"</p>
<p>We walked down the Avenue Thiers, followed
by an inconvenient little crowd of inquisitive people.
Just as we were about to cross a street, a
landau drove up and obliged us to step back to
the pavement. As it passed us, the King solemnly
took off his hat: he had recognised Queen Victoria
seated in the carriage and apparently astonished at
this unexpected meeting.</p>
<p>When we reached the Place Masséna, again the
King's hat flew off: this time, it was the Dowager
Empress of Russia entering a shop.</p>
<p>"The place seems crammed with sovereigns," he
said, with his mocking air. "Whom am I going to
meet next, I wonder?"</p>
<p>I saw little of him during this first short stay
which he made at Nice, for I was at that time attached
to the person of the Queen of England and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>
had to transfer the duty of protecting King Leopold
to one of my colleagues. I used to meet him
occasionally—always on foot—on the Cimiez road;
I would also see him, in the afternoon, taking tea
at Rumpelmayer's with his two daughters, the
Princesses Clémentine and Louise, and his son-in-law,
Prince Philip of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. These
family meetings around a five o'clock tea-table
marked the last auspicious days of peace which was
more apparent than real among those illustrious
personages.</p>
<p>When Leopold II returned to the Riviera two
years later, he had quarrelled, in the meanwhile,
with his daughter Louise, who herself had quarrelled
with her husband; he had ceased to see his
daughter Stéphanie, who had married Count Lonyay;
and he met his wife, Queen Marie Henriette,
as seldom as he possibly could. Princess Clémentine
was the only one who still found favour with
this masterful old man, who was so hard upon
others and so indulgent to himself; and she continued,
with admirable devotion and self-abnegation,
to surround him with solicitous care and to
accompany him wherever he went.</p>
<p>I never met a more smiling resignation than that
of this princess, who took a noble pride in the performance
of her duty. Nothing was able to discourage
her in the fulfilment of her filial mission:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>
not the rebuffs and caprices which she encountered
on her father's side, nor the frequently delicate and
sometimes humiliating positions which he forced
upon her, nor even the persistency with which, until
his dying day, he thwarted the secret inclinations
of her heart.</p>
<p>It has been said that, at one time, he thought of
giving her the Prince of Naples—now King of
Italy—for a husband and that he abandoned the
idea in consequence of the stubborn opposition
which the plan encountered on the part of exalted
political personages. I do not know if he ever
entertained this plan; on the other hand, I feel
pretty sure that, some years ago, he would have
liked the Count of Turin for a son-in-law and that
negotiations were even opened to this effect with
the Italian court. But the most invincible of arguments—the
only one that had not been taken into
account—was at once opposed to this project: the
princess's affections were engaged elsewhere. She
loved Prince Victor Napoleon and had resolved
that she would never marry another man. Of
course, I was not present at the scene which the
plain expression of this wish provoked between
father and daughter; but I understand that it was
of a violent character. From that day, the Prince's
name was never mentioned between them. The
Princess continued, as in the past, to fill the part<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>
of an attentive and devoted daughter; she continued
scrupulously to perform her duties as "the
little Queen," as the Belgians called her after 1904,
the year of her mother's death, when she began to
take Marie Henriette's place at official functions;
she continued to succour the poor and nurse the
sick with greater solicitude than ever; and she was
seen, as before, driving her pony-chaise in the Bois
de la Cambre. Only, in the privacy of her boudoir,
the moment she had a little time to herself, she
would immerse herself in the study of historical
memoirs of the Napoleonic period.</p>
<p>To tell the truth, I believe that if Prince Victor
had not possessed the grave fault, in Leopold's
eyes, of being a pretender to the French throne,
the King would have ended by giving to the daughter
whom he adored the consent for which she
vainly entreated during six long years. But the
King was an exceedingly selfish man; he was eager,
for the reasons explained above, to preserve good
relations with the French Republic; and he refused
at any price to admit the heir of the Bonapartes
into his family. The result was that he ended by
conceiving against the Prince the violent antipathy
which he felt for any person who stood in his way
and interfered with his calculations. I remember
realising this one morning at the station at Bâle,
where I had gone to meet him. The King was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>
waiting on the platform for the Brussels train,
when I suddenly caught sight of Prince Victor
leaving the refreshment-room. I thought it my
duty to tell the King.</p>
<p>"Oh, indeed!" he said. "Let's go and look at
the engines."</p>
<p>And he strode away.</p>
<p>Can it have been because he was sure of meeting
neither Prince Victor nor the members of his family
on the Riviera that he resolved, at the end of his
life, to fix one of his chief residences in the south
of France? I will not go so far as to say so. I
am more inclined to believe that the old King, who
was a passionate lover of sunshine, flowers and freedom,
found in that charming and easy-going country
the environment most in harmony with his
moods and tastes.</p>
<p>As early as 1898, he resolved to lay out for himself
a paradise in that wonderful property, known
as Passable, which he had purchased near Nice,
with its gardens sloping down to the Gulf of Villefranche.
He devoted all his horticultural and
architectural knowledge, all his sense of what was
beautiful and picturesque to its embellishment.
Tiberius achieved no greater success at Capri.
Year after year, he enlarged it, for he had a mania
for building and pulling down. He also had the
soul of a speculator. None knew better than he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>
how to bargain for a piece of land: he would bully,
threaten and intimidate the other side until he invariably
won the day. Thereupon he used to indulge
in childish delight:</p>
<p>"It's all right," he would say, with a great
chuckle. "I have done a capital stroke of business!"</p>
<p>And I am bound to admit that he spared neither
time nor energy when he scented what he called a
"capital stroke of business."</p>
<p>I can still see him, one afternoon, leaving M.
Waldeck-Rousseau's villa at the Cap d'Antibes,
near Cannes, where he had gone to pay the prime
minister a visit, and perceiving, on the road leading
to the station, a magnificent walled-in park that
looked as if it were abandoned:</p>
<p>"Who owns that property?" he asked, suddenly.</p>
<p>"An Englishman, Sir, who never comes near it."</p>
<p>"We have time to look over it," said the King,
"before the train leaves for Nice. Somebody fetch
the gardener!"</p>
<p>The gardener was not to be found, but the gate
was open. Leopold II walked in, without hesitation,
followed by Baron Snoy, my colleague, M.
Olivi, and myself, hurried along the deserted paths
and praised the beauty of the vegetation; but, when
it became time to go, we discovered, to our dismay,
that someone had locked the gate while we were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>
inside. There was no key, no possibility of opening
it. We called and shouted in vain. Nobody
appeared. The train was due before long; the
King began to grow impatient. What were we to
do? Olivi had a flash of genius. He ran to a
shed, the roof of which shewed above the nearest
thicket, and returned with a ladder:</p>
<p>"If Your Majesty does not mind, you will be
able to get over the wall."</p>
<p>The King accepted impassively and the ascent
began. Baron Snoy went first, then I; and the
King, in his turn, climbed the rungs, supported by
Olivi. Baron Snoy and I, propped up on the top
of the wall, hoisted the King after us. We were
joined by Olivi; and then a dreadful thing happened:
the ladder swayed and fell! There we
were, all four of us, astride the wall, swinging our
legs, without any means of getting down on the
other side.</p>
<p>"We look like burglars," said the King, with a
forced laugh.</p>
<p>There was nothing for it but to jump. The distance
from the top of the wall to the slope beside
the road was not great; and Baron Snoy, Olivi and
I succeeded in falling on our feet without great
difficulty. The King, however, who limped in one
leg and lacked agility, could not think of it.</p>
<p>Then Olivi, who certainly proved himself a most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>
resourceful man that day, solved the problem. He
suggested that the King should climb down upon
our shoulders. The King, accordingly, let himself
slide down on to the shoulders of Baron Snoy,
who passed him on to Olivi's back, while I caught
hold of his long legs and deposited his huge feet
safely on the ground!</p>
<p>Some years later, seeing Olivi at the station at
Nice:</p>
<p>"I remember you, M. Olivi," said Leopold II.
"You took part in our great gymnastic display at
Antibes."</p>
<p>"I did, Sir."</p>
<p>"Well, do you know, M. Olivi, there is no need
for me to climb the wall now. I have the key: the
property belongs to me!"</p>
<p>The whole man is pictured in this anecdote.
Even as he gave numberless signs of avarice and
meanness in the details of material life, so he displayed
an almost alarming extravagance once it
became a question of satisfying a whim, although
he would carefully calculate the advantages of any
such whim beforehand. Now to increase the number
of his landed properties was with him a genuine
monomania, a sort of methodical madness.</p>
<p>At the bottom of his character lay certain precepts
which belonged to the great middle class of
1840 and which had survived from the middle-class<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>
education imparted to him in his youth. It was
thus that he was brought to think that the amount
of a man's wealth is to be measured by the amount
of real estate which he possesses. He fought shy
of stocks and shares because of the frequent fluctuations
to which they are subjected. On the other
hand, he felt a constant satisfaction—I was almost
saying a rapturous delight—in the acquisition of
land, in turning his cash into acres of soil and investing
his fortune in marble or bricks and mortar,
because he looked upon these as more solid and
lasting.</p>
<p>It goes without saying that, during his long visits
to the South, he escaped as much of the official and
social drudgery as he could. He saw very little of
his illustrious cousins staying on the Riviera;
avoided dinners and garden-parties; and, when not
at work, spent his time in long and interminable
walks, or else went and sat on a bench in some public
garden or by the sea and there steeped himself
in his reflexions. Sometimes, when he was in a
hurry to get back, he would take the tram or hail
a fly, always picking out the oldest and shabbiest.</p>
<p>One day, at his wish, I beckoned to a driver on
the rank at Nice.</p>
<p>"No, no, not that one," he said. "Call the other
man, over there: the one with the horse that looks
half-dead."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p>
<p>"But the carriage seems very dirty, Sir," I ventured
to remark.</p>
<p>"Just so: as he drives such an uninviting conveyance,
he must be doing bad business; we must
try and help him."</p>
<p>Leopold II had a trick of performing these sudden
and unexpected acts of kindness.</p>
<p>He was a sceptic to the verge of indifference and
yet entertained odd antipathies and aversions. For
instance, he hated the piano and was terrified of a
cold in the head. Whenever he had to select a new
aide-de-camp, he always began by asking two questions:</p>
<p>"Do you play the piano? Do you catch cold
easily?"</p>
<p>If the officer replied in the negative, the King
said, "That's all right," and the aide-de-camp was
appointed; but if, by ill-luck, the poor fellow returned
an evasive answer, his fate was doomed: he
went straight back to his regiment.</p>
<p>This inexplicable dread of the <i>corizza</i> had attained
such proportions that, during the last years
of the King's life, the people about him—including
the ladies—discovered a simple and ingenious expedient
for obtaining a day's leave when they
wanted it: they simply sneezed without stopping.
At the third explosion, the old sovereign gave a suspicious
look at the sneezer and said:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p>
<p>"I sha'n't want you to-day."</p>
<p>And the trick was done.</p>
<p>On the other hand, he showed himself very indulgent
towards his younger officers' adventures in
the world of gallantry. I remember his chaffing
one of them, one morning, at Nice. Captain
Binjé, an officer whose intelligence, activity and
devotion had earned his appreciation, was a little
late on duty that morning; and moreover his clothes
emitted a very strong scent. The King at once
began to sniff:</p>
<p>"Oof! Oof!" he said. "I'll wager you struck a
flower on your road here!"</p>
<p>"Y-your M-majesty," stammered the officer.</p>
<p>"All right, all right, my boy: you can't help it,
at your age!"</p>
<p>He had idiosyncrasies, like most mortals. For
instance, he used to have four buckets of sea-water
dashed over his body every morning, by way of a
bath; he expected partridges to be served at his
meals all the year round; and he had his newspapers
ironed like pocket-handkerchiefs before
reading them: he could not endure anything like a
fold or crease in them. Lastly, when addressing
the servants, he always spoke of himself in the third
person. Thus he would say to his chauffeur,
"Wait for <i>him</i>," instead of, "Wait for <i>me</i>." Those
new to his service, who had not been warned,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>
were puzzled to know what mysterious person he
referred to.</p>
<p>A strange eccentric, you will say. No doubt,
although these oddities are difficult to understand
in the case of a man who displayed the most practical
mind, the most lucid intelligence and the
shrewdest head for business the moment he was
brought face to face with the facts of daily life.
But, I repeat, to those who knew him best, he appeared
in the light of a constant and bewildering
puzzle; and this was shown not only in the peculiarity
of his manners, but in the incongruity of
his sentiments. How are we to explain why this
King should feel an infinite love for children, this
stern King who was so hard and sometimes so
cruel in his treatment of those to whom by rights
he ought never to have closed his heart nor refused
his indulgence? Yet the tall old man worshipped
the little tots. They were almost the only creatures
whose greetings he returned; and he would
go carefully out of his way, when strolling along
a beach, rather than spoil their sand-castles. How
are we to explain the deep-seated, intense and
jealous delight which he, so insensible to the softer
emotions of mankind, felt at the sight of the
fragile beauty of a rare flower? How are we to
explain why he reserved the kindness and gentleness
which he so harshly refused to his wife and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>
daughters for his unfortunate sister, the Empress
Charlotte, whose mysterious madness had kept her
for forty-two years a lonely prisoner within the
high walls of the Château de Bouchout? And yet,
every morning of those forty-two years he never
failed, when at Laeken, to go alone across the park
to that silent dwelling and spend two hours in solitary
converse with the tragic widow. Each day,
with motherly solicitude, he personally supervised
the smallest details of that shattered existence.</p>
<p>Lastly, what an astounding contrast was offered
in Leopold II, who was considered insensible to the
weaknesses of the heart, by the sudden blossoming
of a sentimental idyll in the evening of his life!</p>
<h3 class="p2">3.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">No one, I said, at the beginning of this chapter,
was more intimately acquainted than myself with
the private life of the late King Leopold. This
was one of the consequences—I am far from adding,
one of the advantages—of my professional
duties about the persons of the sovereigns whom I
have guarded. And I would certainly have hesitated
before broaching the subject of the royal adventures,
if this subject had remained secret. But
public animosity and the King's indifference to
scandal have made it so well-known that I feel no
scruples about speaking in my own turn, the more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>
so as this will give me the opportunity of destroying
many a detail of the legend which people have
been pleased to build up around him and of correcting
those facts which have come to the inquisitive
ears of the public.</p>
<p>To begin with, the adventure with which Leopold
II was credited for ten years in connexion
with Mlle. Cléo de Mérode must be relegated to
the pure domain of fiction. I daresay that it assisted
the advancement of the young and pretty
dancer as much as it annoyed the King, who was
pursued even in Brussels itself by the irreverent
nickname of "Cléopold." What gave rise to this
absolutely gratuitous conviction on the part of public
opinion? Nothing more nor less than a gossiping
remark let fall in the slips at the Opera by
someone who pretended that he had met the King
and the ballet-dancer looking for a sequestered spot
in the Forest of Saint-Germain.</p>
<p>The scandal was hardy and tough: it ran for
ten years without stopping to take breath. At the
end of that period, which was long enough to turn
any lie into a truth, Leopold II, one night at the
Opera, asked an important official to present Mlle.
de Mérode to him, saying that he had never met
the lady, although he had "often heard of her."
The important official promptly adopted the view
that the King was uncommonly "deep."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p>
<p>And yet it was perfectly true: he had never set
eyes on her in his life. The fact was proved by
the candour of the words which he addressed to the
charming dancer when she was brought up to be
presented:</p>
<p>"Allow me to express all my regrets if the good-fortune
which people attribute to me has offended
you at all. Alas, we no longer live in the days
when a king's favour was not looked upon as compromising!
Besides, I am only a little king."</p>
<p>On the other hand, a single and decisive love,
which he preserved until his death was soon to fill
his thoughts exclusively and graft upon his senile
heart a belated bloom of disconcerting youth.
When Leopold II made the acquaintance of Mlle.
Blanche Caroline Delacroix, whom he afterwards
raised to the dignity of Baroness Vaughan, he had
just reached his sixty-fifth year. The lady boasted
two-and-twenty summers. The humbleness of her
birth prevented her from raising her eyes to a
throne. She was the thirteenth child of a working
mechanic and was born at Bucharest, where her
father had gone to seek his fortune. She was
brought up, therefore, in courts which were very
different from royal courts; and I need not say
that her education had hardly prepared her for the
brilliant destiny which her chequered life held in
store for her.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p>
<p>Well, one afternoon in September, she was sent
for to be presented to King Leopold, who was
passing through Paris, who had heard of her attractions
and who felt interested in her modest condition.
She was so flustered by this event that she
promptly mixed up Belgium and Sweden. This
was not a very serious matter in itself; but it might
have been, in the circumstances, if Leopold II had
not happened to be in a good humour that day.
The fact remained that Mlle. Delacroix was convinced
that she was in the presence of the King of
Sweden, nor did she find out her mistake until she
noticed the amused surprise which Leopold betrayed
whenever, with her very comprehensible ignorance
of the rules of etiquette, Mlle. Delacroix
went out of her way to call him "His Majesty
Oscar."</p>
<p>I am bound to confess that she at once recovered
her self-possession when the King of the Belgians
thought fit discreetly to apprise her of his identity
and she was greatly diverted by her blunder. Two
years later, I described the mishap to the King of
Sweden, who happened to be staying at Biarritz
at the same time as the Baroness Vaughan. Said
Oscar II:</p>
<p>"Do present my fair cousin, who did me so great
an honour!"</p>
<p class="b1">"But, Sir," I replied, "she may feel a regret!"</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-333.jpg" width="400" height="574"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">PRINCESS CLEMENTINE</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">"Do you think so, Paoli? And yet I am no
'fresher' than my cousin of Belgium. I am afraid,
you see, that the regret will be all on my side!"</p>
<p>I believe that the regret was mutual. However,
the meeting was arranged. The baroness took a
snapshot of King Oscar with her kodak; and we
agreed to say nothing about it to King Leopold,
who was of a jealous disposition.</p>
<p>To what did Blanche Caroline Delacroix owe her
success with Leopold II: to her vivid conversational
powers, to the dazzling youthfulness of the
fair-haired divinity that she was, or to her genuine
intelligence? I cannot tell; but this much is certain,
that, at her first audience, she succeeded in
arousing in the old man's heart a love which was
manifested at first in a polite flirtation and consecrated
later in a union the mystery of which was
never fully solved. Both the King and Mme.
de Vaughan carefully refrained from making the
smallest confidence on the subject of their marriage
even to those in whom they confided most
readily. Nevertheless, I have always believed that
a secret religious ceremony did take place, so as
to regularise their situation, if not with regard to
Belgian law, at least in respect to the Church and
their consciences. This conviction on my part was
strengthened by the pastoral letter which Mgr.
Mercier, Archbishop of Mechlin addressed to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>
Belgian Catholics after the King's death and in
which the primate declared that the sovereign had
died at peace with the Church of Rome. Allowing
for the legitimate susceptibilities of the royal
family, it was impossible to confirm the existence
of a morganatic union in a more diplomatic manner.
Some have said that the marriage was celebrated
at San Remo, during the time when the
King and Mme. de Vaughan were staying at Villefranche,
near Nice. I cannot certify this. When
I consult my recollection, I merely remember that,
on a certain morning, some years before Leopold
II's death, I saw the King and Mme. de Vaughan
drive off together in a motor-car—a thing which
they had never done before—he looking very nervous
and she greatly excited. They forbade anyone
to accompany them and did not return until
evening, when they made no attempt to tell us
where they had been. Marcel, the chauffeur, said
that he had taken them to San Remo, on Italian
territory; but, apart from this, he also showed a
memorable discretion and we got no more out of
him.</p>
<p>I noticed, however, that, from that day, the attitude
of the couple changed: they showed themselves
in public together, went openly to the theatre
at Nice and to the carnival masquerade and
abstained from taking the very childish and rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>
ridiculous precautions which the King had prescribed
during the period of flirtation and "engagement"
on the score of "saving appearances!"</p>
<p>Ridiculous and childish they were, as the reader
can judge for himself. For instance, although the
Baroness Vaughan shared all the King's journeys
and accompanied him wherever he went, she was
never to address a word to him in public or appear
to know him. They took the same trains, got out
at the same stations, put up at the same hotels in
adjoining rooms, lunched and dined in the same
dining-room, but ignored each other's existence, he
with an imperturbable composure, she with a
charming awkwardness.</p>
<p>The King never spoke of Mme. de Vaughan to
the members of his suite: I do not believe that he
once so much as mentioned her name before me;
and yet <i>he knew that I knew</i>. He was quite aware
that I had made her acquaintance and that we used
to spend hours chatting together in the halls of the
hotels at which we stayed. On the other hand, he
imagined that nobody except myself suspected this
intrigue, although it was an open secret about which
the whole staff of the hotel, from the manager to
the kitchen-scullions, used to gossip from morning
till night! He went on stoically playing his puerile
comedy. Every day, at lunch, seated with her
maid at a table opposite him, she used to send smiles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>
and signals to Captain Binjé and myself, who had
our work cut out to keep a serious countenance.
When lunch was over, Leopold would start on a
walk with his aide-de-camp, while Mme. de
Vaughan would set out, on her side, accompanied
either by her companion or her maid. Half an
hour later, they met on the high-road. The King
would hurry forward, take off his hat and exclaim:</p>
<p>"Fancy meeting you, madame! How fortunate!"</p>
<p>This was the signal. The aide-de-camp and the
lady's maid withdrew discreetly, leaving the two
love-birds to themselves. They strolled together
for a couple of hours, after which each took a different
road back to the hotel, so as not to enter it
at the same time.</p>
<p>On rainy days, the little scene was enacted with
the aid of motor-cars. At a given spot, the King
changed into Mme. de Vaughan's car, while the
maid stepped into the King's. When, as sometimes
happened, the baroness grew weary of this
sentimental progress—for she had her capricious
moods—she hastened to resort to the traditional
method which never failed to achieve its object:
she gave a sneeze, a loud, Titanic sneeze. Thereupon
Leopold II forgot his tender passion and
eagerly urged her to go home at once.</p>
<p>The Baroness Vaughan was not a bad sort of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>
woman on the whole. In the early days, she used
to put up with the violent outbursts to which the
King occasionally treated her: she would light a
great, big cigar and think no more about it.
Afterwards, when she grew accustomed to look
upon herself as the King's morganatic wife, her
ambition increased and she insisted on being treated
with deference. She complained to me that the
Princess Clémentine, whom she had met on the
road or in some path in a garden, had not condescended
to return her bow; and she added, in a
regretful tone:</p>
<p>"To think that, if I had lived in the days of Louis
XIV, I should have had a stool at Court!"</p>
<p>In the absence of a stool, she managed to achieve
a most luxurious existence. The King, who now
never left her, had installed her, when he was in
residence in Brussels, in a charming villa which
communicated directly with the grounds of the
Château de Laeken by means of a bridge that
spanned the road and led into the Baroness
Vaughan's garden. Every day, before paying her
his visit, he sent her the choicest flowers from his
hot-houses and the finest fruit in his orchard.</p>
<p>He also gave her a delightful little house on his
estate of Passable, near Nice. He used to go
there in the evening alone, through the garden,
armed with a dark lantern, and spend two hours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>
with the baroness playing cards. At eleven o'clock,
he went back to his own villa, again carrying his
dark lantern, while my detectives, crouching in the
bushes, watched over his safety without his seeing
them, although he knew that they were there; for,
without showing it, he attached great importance
to being properly guarded.</p>
<p>He was very thrifty in his personal expenditure
and ended by imparting his habits of economy to
his fair friend. Baroness Vaughan used to scrutinise
the kitchen accounts as closely as any middle-class
housewife. True, the housekeeping books
sometimes took excessive liberties. I remember,
one year at the Château de Lormois near Fontainebleau,
which the King had hired for the season
from Mme. Constant Say, the widow of the sugar-refiner,
there was a violent scene with the cook,
who had had the temerity to charge for seventy-five
eggs in six days. Mme. de Vaughan was justly
annoyed, dismissed him on the spot and refused to
pay him the usual wages instead of notice. But
Master Cook declined to be done out of what he
considered his rights. In his fury, he hit upon the
bright idea of taking up his stand, day after day,
outside the gate of the château, where he launched
out into invectives against his late mistress and
loudly bewailed the injustice with which he pretended
to have been treated. We dared not arrest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>
him because of the scandal which he threatened to
raise: he knew the habits of the house, of course.
My detectives tried in vain to make him listen to
reason and we were beginning to despair, when, at
the end of a week, we saw that he was wearying of
his daily pilgrimage. One fine day, he left for
Paris and was seen no more.</p>
<p>Great as was the influence which Mme. de
Vaughan had gained over the King's mind, I am
bound to confess that it was never exercised in political
matters nor in any of Leopold's financial
undertakings. The baroness knew nothing about
those things and made no attempt to understand
them. The King was grateful to her for this discretion,
which in reality was only indifference, for
he never allowed any outsider to interfere in his
affairs, whether public or private. He discussed
none of his schemes before they were completed
or before he had drawn up his plan of execution
down to the minutest details.</p>
<p>"It shall be so," he used to declare; and no one
ever dreamt of opposing his will so plainly expressed.</p>
<p>It was in this way that he conducted his enormous
Congo enterprise entirely by himself. The
different phases of this business are too well known
for me to recapitulate them here. One of them,
however—the first phase—has been very seldom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>
discussed and deserves to be recalled, for it throws
a great light not only upon the king's conceptive
genius, but also upon his diplomatic astuteness and
his amazing cynicism.</p>
<p>In 1884, Leopold II, who had for years been
obsessed by the longing to lay hands upon the
Congo territory, promoted an international conference
in order to frustrate the West African treaty
which had lately been concluded between Great
Britain and Portugal and which stood in the way
of the realisation of his secret ambitions. The
King of the Belgians now conceived the subtle and
intelligent idea of inducing the congress to proclaim
the Congo into an independent state, with himself
as its recognised sovereign.</p>
<p>There was only one person in Europe possessed
of sufficient authority to bring about the
adoption of this daring plan; and that was Bismarck.
Bismarck was the necessary instrument;
but how was he to be persuaded? Faced with
this difficulty, Leopold II hit upon the idea of
sending to Berlin a mere journalist, whom he knew
to be a clever and talented man, and instructed him
to capture the Iron Chancellor's confidence. Leopold
coached this journalist, a gentleman of the
name of Gantier, to such good purpose that, as
the result of a campaign directed from Brussels by
the King himself, M. Gantier managed, within a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>
few months, to insinuate himself into Bismarck's
immediate surroundings, to interest him in the
Congo question and to prove to him that Germany
would derive incomparable benefits from proclaiming
the independence of the Congo and entrusting
its administration to a neutral sovereign like the
King of the Belgians.</p>
<p>The stratagem was successful from start to finish.
The Congress of Berlin, on the motion of the chancellor,
proclaimed the Congo an independent territory
with Leopold II, for its sovereign. We know
the result: the Congo is at this day a Belgian colony.
Leopold II, in a word, had "dished" Prince Bismarck.</p>
<p>This incident is enough to show why the King
considered himself superior to all his advisers and
why, as I have already said, he felt grateful to
Mme. de Vaughan for never talking to him about
his vast enterprises. Her reticence made him appreciate
her society all the more.</p>
<p>The relaxation which he found became more
and more necessary to him because as he drew
nearer the tomb, the worries aforesaid and his activities
increased. It was as though he had received
a mysterious warning to tell him that his years were
now numbered and that he must hasten the realisation
of his numerous and immense schemes. Not
to speak of his work on the Congo, which was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>
violently attacked both by politicians of all parties
abroad and by the Opposition at home, his other vast
undertakings also became the object of fierce criticism
on the part of his adversaries, who considered
that he was neglecting the political evolution of the
country in order to devote himself entirely to his
plans for transforming the town of Brussels. He
was so well aware of this state of opinion that, when
the burgomaster of the capital, his friend and fellow
worker, M. Mott, came to congratulate the King on
his last birthday, Leopold said:</p>
<p>"Let us hope that I shall have time to complete
my work."</p>
<p>"Why not, Sir?" replied M. Mott. "You and
I are of the same age; and You are stronger and
haler than I am."</p>
<p>"Never mind, Monsieur le Bourgmestre: remember
that, when one of us closes his eyes, the other
will have to keep his open!"</p>
<p>It was written, in fact, that Leopold II should
be called away before fully realising his colossal
dreams and settling his intricate personal affairs.
He was working up to the very moment of his death;
as everybody knows, his mind remained clear to the
end, nor did his hostility towards his family waver
for an instant. He died as he had lived, inaccessible,
haughty and sceptical.</p>
<p>Nay, even after he had entered into everlasting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>
rest, he made one last effort to resist the final annihilation.
I have the gruesome story from one of
Leopold's aides-de-camp. On the night after the
King's death, while two Sisters of Charity and an
officer with drawn sword were watching by the remains
in the <i>chapelle ardente</i>, suddenly an uncanny
cracking sound was heard to issue from the coffin.
The watchers at first believed it an hallucination;
then, when the cracking continued and became
louder and louder, the two nuns examined the bier.
How great was their terror when, through the crevices
in the wood, they saw the buttons of the uniform
in which the King was clad and the hilt of his sword
moving slowly upwards! The doctors were hurriedly
sent for and declared that the deleterious
gases were escaping from the ill-embalmed body,
causing the King's corpse to swell and burst its
coffin.</p>
<p>Thus death itself, after depriving him of movement
for all time, refused him the majesty and
mystery wherewith it surrounds all those whom it
strikes, until the moment when they are lowered
into the tomb!</p>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a><br /><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a><br /><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a><br /><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">IX</h2>
<p class="pn center p2 large">THE ENGLISH ROYAL FAMILY</p>
<h3 class="p2">1.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">While writing these recollections, I
have more than once had occasion, in
passing, to mention different "faces"
belonging to the Royal Family of England. They
occur at most of the sovereign courts; for it was
no empty phrase that used to describe Queen
Victoria as "the grandmother of Europe." There
was never a truer saying. Even as, in whichever
direction beyond-seas we turn our eyes, we behold
the British flag waving in the breeze, in the same
way, if we study the pedigree of any royal house,
we are almost always certain to discover an English
alliance.</p>
<p>The long years which I spent in the service of
Queen Victoria and the confidence with which she
honoured me by admitting me to her intimacy
enabled me to become acquainted with several members
of that large, united and affable family; and
I am bound to say that not one of them has forgotten
me. They all deign to give me a little
corner in their childish and youthful memories;
they are good enough to remember that, in the old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>
days, when they came to Nice, to Aix, to Biarritz
or to Cannes to pay their duty to their grandmother
and to bring her the smile of their youth,
there was always in the old-fashioned landau that
carried the good Queen along the country roads, or
walking beside her donkey-chair, somebody who
shared the general gaiety and whom the Queen
treated with affectionate kindness. That "somebody"
was myself.</p>
<p>I thus had the honour of seeing King George
V when he was still wearing the modest uniform
of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy and, later, of
knowing Queen Mary when she was only Duchess
of York and Cornwall. And I hope that she will
permit me, in this connexion, to recall an incident
that diverted Queen Victoria's little circle for a
whole evening. It happened during a visit which
the Duchess of York was paying to the Queen at
Nice. I had informed the venerable sovereign that
the "ladies of the fishmarket"—one of the oldest
corporations at Nice—wished to offer her some
flowers; and the Queen asked the Duchess of York
to receive them in her stead and to express her
sincere thanks for their good wishes.</p>
<p class="b1">The good women handed the Duchess their
bouquets; and I then saw that they were shy and
at a loss what to do or say next. So I whispered
to them:</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-352.jpg" width="400" height="604"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">KING EDWARD VII</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">"Go and kiss that gentleman over there," pointing
to Colonel Carington, the Queen's equerry.
"That is by far the best speech that you could
make!"</p>
<p>The ladies evidently approved of my suggestion,
for they forthwith, one and all, flung themselves
upon the colonel's neck; and he, though flurried
and a little annoyed, had to submit with the best
grace possible to this volley of kisses under the eyes
of the princess, who laughed till the tears ran down
her cheeks.</p>
<p>When I apologised to him afterwards for the
abominable trick which I had played him:</p>
<p>"Ah," he sighed, "if only they had been good-looking!"</p>
<p>The fact is that none of the ladies evoked the
most distant memories of the Venus of Milo!</p>
<p>Thanks to the recollections of those bygone years,
of which any number of charming and amusing
stories could be told, I was no longer a stranger
to the Duke and Duchess of York when, after the
accession of King Edward VII, they were raised
to the title of Prince and Princess of Wales and
travelled across France, under my protection, on
their way to Brindisi, where they were to take ship
for India.</p>
<p>"I will present you to the prince myself," said
Princess May, with exquisite and simple kindliness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>
when she saw me waiting for them in the railway
station at Calais. And she continued,
"George, this is M. Paoli: you remember him, don't
you?"</p>
<p>"I remember," said the prince, giving me his
hand, "how much my grandmother liked you and
the affection which she showed you. I need hardly
say that we feel just the same to you ourselves."</p>
<p>I could not have hoped for a more cordial welcome
from the prince, whose features bore so striking
a resemblance to those of the Emperor of Russia,
whom I had just left.</p>
<p>This journey was a particularly pleasant one for
me, as it enabled me to foregather once more with
an old and faithful friend in the person of the
prince's secretary, of whom I had seen a great deal
at the time when he was private secretary to Queen
Victoria and who now occupies the same position
under King George V; I refer to Sir Arthur Bigge.</p>
<p>Sir Arthur belongs to that race of servants of
the monarchy whose zeal and devotion cease only
with their death. He met with a striking adventure
at the time of the interview between Queen
Victoria and the late M. Félix Faure at Noisy-le-Sec.
The story has never been told before; and I
have no hesitation in publishing it, because it does
great credit to the generosity of feeling of the then
President of the Republic.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p>
<p>The Queen was on her way to Nice, that year,
and had expressed a wish to meet M. Félix Faure,
whom she did not know. The interview was arranged
to take place during the stop of the royal
train at Noisy Junction; and it had acquired a
certain solemnity owing to the political circumstances
of the moment. We began by witnessing a
long private conversation between the Queen and
the president through the windows of the royal
saloon-carriage, after which, in accordance with the
usual etiquette, they presented the members of
their respective suites. When it came to Colonel
Bigge's turn, the Queen said to M. Faure, without
having the least idea of mischief in her mind:</p>
<p>"My private secretary, Sir Arthur Bigge, who
enjoys all my confidence and all my esteem. Besides,
I expect you know his name: it was he who
accompanied the Empress Eugénie on her sad
pilgrimage to Zululand and helped her to recover
the body of her poor son."</p>
<p>The president bowed, without moving a muscle
of his face or uttering a word; and Sir Arthur,
greatly embarrassed by the terms of the presentation,
thought the best thing for him to do was to
lie low and keep out of the way. How great, therefore,
was his surprise when, after everybody had
been presented, he heard his name called by M.
Félix Faure:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p>
<p>"What can he want with me?" he asked, rather
uneasily.</p>
<p>As soon as they were alone, the president said to
him, point-blank:</p>
<p>"As a Frenchman, I wish to thank you for the
devotion which you have shown to one of our fellow-countrywomen
in circumstances so terrible for
her. You behaved like a man of heart. I congratulate
you."</p>
<p>M. Faure had the knack of enhancing the character
of his office and winning the respectful
sympathy of foreigners by happy flashes of inspiration
of this kind.</p>
<p>But I am wandering from my subject. To return
to the Prince of Wales, the cordiality of the
reception which he gave me at Calais promised me
a charming journey. In point of fact, I was able,
during the run across France, to perceive how fond
both the prince and princess were of simplicity and
gaiety. They were evidently delighted to be going
to India, although the princess could not accustom
herself to the idea of leaving her children.
As for the prince, he was revelling beforehand in
the length of the voyage:</p>
<p>"One never feels really alive except on board
ship," he said to me. "What do you think, M.
Paoli?"</p>
<p>"I think, Sir," I replied, "that I must ask Your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>
Royal Highness to allow me to differ. When I
am on board ship, I sometimes feel more like dying."</p>
<p>"You're not the only one," he retorted, with a
side glance at one of his equerries, who stood without
wincing.</p>
<p>The prince liked teasing people; but his chaff was
never cruel and he accompanied it with so much
kindness that there was no question of taking offence
at it. At heart, the prince had remained the
middie that he once was, a "good sort," full of fun,
full of "go," fond of laughing and interested in
everything.</p>
<p>We chatted in the train until very late at night,
for I did not leave the prince until we reached
Modane, the station on the Italian frontier where
my service ended.</p>
<h3 class="p2">2.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">I saw him next at the Queen of Spain's wedding;
and again in 1908. The prince and princess had
just spent a week in Paris for the first time in their
lives, and were returning to England delighted with
their stay. The special train had hardly left the
Gare du Nord, when the Hon. Derek Keppel, who
was with the prince, came to me in my compartment:</p>
<p>"M. Paoli," he said, "I am commanded by Their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>
Royal Highnesses to ask you to give them the
pleasure of your company to luncheon."</p>
<p>I at once went to the royal saloon. The prince
was chatting with M. Hua, his sons' French tutor,
a very agreeable and scholarly man whom he
treated as a friend; the princess was talking to
Lady Eva Dugdale, her lady-in-waiting. It goes
without saying that the conversation was all about
Paris and the impressions which the prince and
princess had received from their trips to Versailles,
Chantilly, Fontainebleau and Chartres.</p>
<p>"I can understand my father's admiration and
affection for France," said the prince to me. "It
is a magnificent country and an interesting people.
I am glad that the <i>entente cordiale</i> has strengthened
the bonds of friendship between the two
nations. I must come and see you oftener."</p>
<p>While the prince was saying these pleasant
things to me, I was surprised to observe his valet
depositing two apparently very heavy hampers on
the floor in the middle of the carriage; but my
astonishment was still greater when I saw the
princess herself open one of the hampers and take
out a table-cloth, plates, a chicken, tumblers, in
short, a complete lunch.</p>
<p>"By the way," said the prince, "I forgot to tell
you: there's no restaurant-car in the train, so we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>
are going to have a pic-nic lunch here. It will be
much better fun!"</p>
<p>And it was. The man put out two folding-tables
which were in the carriage; and then, at the
princess's suggestion, we all helped to lay the cloth!
One looked after the plates, another the glasses,
a third the knives and forks, while the princess herself
carved the cold fowl.</p>
<p>When everything was at last ready, we sat down
around this makeshift luncheon-table and, with a
splendid will, did justice to our meal, which, I may
say, was excellent. The proprietor of the Hôtel
Bristol, who had undertaken to pack the hampers,
had had the happy thought of adding a couple of
bottles of champagne; and these were the cause of
an incident that crowned the gaiety of this merry
lunch. The prince declared that he would open
them himself. Asking for the first bottle, he prepared
to draw the cork with a thousand cunning precautions;
but he certainly failed to reckon with the
extraordinary impatience of that accursed cork,
which was no sooner freed of its restraining bonds
than it escaped from the prince's hands and went off
like a pistol-shot, while the wine drenched the
princess's dress. The prince was very sorry, but
the princess laughed the thing off and declared that
"it didn't stain." She had her skirt wiped down at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>
once with water; and the luncheon finished as gaily
as it began.</p>
<p>I could not give a more striking instance than the
story which I have just told of the charming
simplicity of this princess, in whom all the domestic
virtues are so prettily personified. As I was taking
leave of her on board the ship that was to convey
the illustrious travellers from Calais to Dover:</p>
<p>"Do come and see us in England," she said. "I
should like to show you my children: you have never
met them."</p>
<p>"Madam," I replied, "I would do so with pleasure,
if my duties allowed me to take a holiday.
Meanwhile, may I respectfully remind Your Royal
Highness that, on the last journey, you promised
me the young princes' photograph?"</p>
<p>"That's true," she answered, "I forgot all about
it. But, this time, wait." And, taking her handkerchief
from her waistband, the princess made a
knot in it. "Now I'm sure to remember," she
added with a smile.</p>
<p>And, two days later, I received a splendid photograph
of the children, adorned with their mother's
signature.</p>
<p>Nearly three years have passed since this last
journey and I have not had the honour of seeing
King George and Queen Mary since. Nevertheless,
they are good enough to think of me sometimes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>
as will be seen by the following affectionate
letter which my friend Sir Arthur Bigge sent me on
my retirement:</p>
<p class="pq40 p1">"<span class="smcap">Marlborough House</span>,</p>
<p class="pq50">"<span class="smcap">Pall Mall, S. W.</span></p>
<p class="pq60">"Feb'y 28th, 1909.</p>
<p class="pqn">"<i>My Dear Paoli</i>,—</p>
<p class="pq">"Your letter to me of the 24th inst. has been laid before
the Prince and Princess of Wales, who received with feelings
of deep regret the announcement that you had asked
for and obtained permission to retire. Their Royal Highnesses
are indeed sorry to think that they will never again
have the advantage of your valuable services so efficiently
and faithfully rendered and which always greatly conduced
to the pleasure and comfort of Their Royal Highnesses'
stay in France. At the same time the Prince and
Princess rejoice to know that you will now enjoy a well-merited
repose after 42 years of an anxious and strenuous
service, and they trust that you may live to enjoy many
years of health and happiness.</p>
<p class="pq">"Their Royal Highnesses are greatly touched by your
words of loyal devotion and thank you heartily for these
kind sentiments.</p>
<p class="pq">"As to myself, the thought of your retirement reminds
me that a precious link with the past and especially with
the memory of your great and beloved Queen Victoria is
now broken. I remember so well the first time we met at
Modane when Her Majesty was travelling to Italy and
you will ever be inseparably connected in my thoughts
with those happy days spent in Her Majesty's service in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>
France. I can well imagine what interest you will find in
writing your book of reminiscences.</p>
<p class="pq">"Good-bye, my dear Paoli, and believe me to be</p>
<p class="pq30">"Your old and devoted friend,</p>
<p class="pq60">"<span class="smcap">Arthur Bigge</span>."</p>
<h3 class="p2">3.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">I intended, in this chapter, to speak of those
members of the royal family with whom my long
and frequent service about the person of Queen
Victoria gave me the occasion to come into contact;
and I must not omit to mention a princess now no
more, a woman of lofty intelligence and great heart,
whom life did not spare the most cruel sorrows after
granting her the proudest destinies. I refer to the
Empress Frederick of Germany, eldest daughter
of Queen Victoria and mother of William II.</p>
<p>I made her acquaintance in rather curious circumstances.
It was at the naval review held by
Queen Victoria in 1897, on the occasion of her diamond
jubilee. As a special favour I was invited
to see this magnificent sight on board the <i>Alberta</i>
and I was gazing with wondering eyes at the
majestic fleet of iron-clads through which the royal
yacht had just begun to steam, when I heard a voice
behind me say, in the purest Tuscan:</p>
<p>"<i>Bongiorno, Signor Paoli ...</i>"</p>
<p>I turned round. A woman, still young in bearing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>
though her face was crowned with grey hair
under a widow's bonnet, stood before me with outstretched
hand:</p>
<p>"I see," she said, smiling at my surprise, "that
you do not know me. I am the Empress Frederick.
I have often heard of you and I wanted to know
you and to thank you for your attentions to my
mother."</p>
<p>I bowed low, thinking what an uncommon occurrence
it must be for a Frenchman to meet a German
empress, talking Italian, on an English boat;
and she continued:</p>
<p>"I know that you are a Corsican; and that is why
I am speaking to you in your native language,
which I learnt at Florence and which I love as much
as I do my own."</p>
<p>The Empress Frederick, in fact, was remarkably
well-educated, as are all the English princesses.
She knew French as fluently as Italian and hardly
ever spoke German, except to the chamberlain,
Count Wedel. I was able to see, during our conversation,
that she took a lively interest in my country;
she asked me a thousand questions about
France and particularly about French artists:</p>
<p>"I am a great admirer of M. Detaille's works,"
she said and added, after a pause, "He is very like
the Emperor, my son. Don't you think so?"</p>
<p>I thought it the moment for prudence:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p>
<p>"I have never had the honour of seeing the Emperor
William," I replied, "and therefore I cannot
tell Your Imperial Majesty if the resemblance
has struck me."</p>
<p>She then changed the conversation and spoke of
the celebrations which were being prepared in her
mother's honour.</p>
<p>The only other occasion on which I saw her was
two years later, when she crossed French soil to go
from England to Italy. This time, she was nervous
and ill at ease:</p>
<p>"Do you assure me," she asked, as she landed at
Calais, "that I shall meet with no unpleasantness
between this and the Italian frontier?"</p>
<p>"Why, what are you afraid of, Ma'am?" I asked.</p>
<p>"You forget, M. Paoli, that I am the widow of
the German Emperor and that, as such, I am no
favourite in this country. Suppose I were recognised!
There are memories, as you know, which
French patriotism refuses to dismiss."</p>
<p>She was alluding not only to the events of 1870,
but to the bad impression made in Paris by the
visit which she had paid, a few years earlier—without
any ulterior motive—to the ruined palace of
Saint-Cloud, forgetting that it was destroyed and
sacked by the Prussians. I reassured her, nevertheless,
and said that I was prepared to vouch for
the respect that would be shown her.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p>
<p>The journey, I need hardly say, passed off without
a hitch. The Empress, with her suite, entered
the private saloon-carriage of her brother, the
Prince of Wales, which was coupled to the Paris
mail-train and afterwards transferred to the Nice
express, for the Empress was travelling to Bordighera,
on the Italian Riviera.</p>
<p>She dared not leave her carriage during the short
stop which was made in Paris; but, when we arrived
at Marseilles the next morning, she said:</p>
<p>"I should awfully like to take a little exercise.
I have been eighteen hours in this carriage!"</p>
<p>"But please do, Ma'am," I at once replied. "I
promise you that nothing disagreeable will happen
to you."</p>
<p>She thereupon decided to take my advice. She
stepped down on the platform and walked about
among the passengers. She was received on every
side with marks of deferential respect—for, of
course, her <i>incognito</i> had been betrayed, as every
<i>incognito</i> should be—and suddenly felt encouraged
to such an extent that, from that moment, she
alighted at every stop. Gradually, indeed, as her
confidence increased, she took longer and longer in
returning to her carriage, so much so that she very
nearly lost the train at Nice; and, when I took
leave of her at Bordighera, she said, as she gave me
her hand to kiss:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p>
<p>"Forgive me, my fears were absurd. Now, I
have but one wish, to make a fresh stay in
France. Who knows? Perhaps next year."</p>
<p>I do not know what circumstances prevented her
from fulfilling her hopes; and the next time I heard
of her was at Queen Victoria's funeral. I was
astonished not to see her there and asked the reason
of her chamberlain, Count Wedel, who sat beside
me in St. George's Chapel at Windsor.</p>
<p>"Alas," he said, "our poor Empress is confined
to her bed by a terrible illness! Think how she
must suffer: her body is nothing but a living sore!"</p>
<p>A few months later, she was dead.</p>
<h3 class="p2">4.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">I had only a more or less fleeting vision of this
amiable sovereign, whose fate, though not so tragic
as that of the Empress Elizabeth of Austria, was
but little happier. On the other hand, I had opportunities
of coming into much more frequent and
constant contact with two of her sisters, Princess
Christian of Schleswig-Holstein and Princess
Henry of Battenberg.</p>
<p>Closely though these two princesses resemble
each other in the admirable filial affection which
they showed their mother, they are entirely different
in disposition. Whereas the elder, who is generally
known as the Princess Christian, is always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>
ready to talk to those about her, Princess Beatrice,
the younger, is comparatively silent and almost self-contained,
but without the least affectation on her
part: in fact, I have seldom met a princess more
simple in her habits or more easy of access to poor
folk. This contrast in their attitude towards life
comes, I think, from a difference in their temperaments
and tastes. The Princess Christian has inherited
the homely virtues of the German princesses:
she interests herself mainly in philanthropic
and social questions. The Princess Henry, on the
contrary, feels a marked attraction for literature
and the arts, which she cultivates with a real talent;
and, like all those who are endowed with an active
brain, she loves to isolate herself from the outside
world.</p>
<p>I must say that I never knew the Princess Christian
as well as I did her sister, for the very good
reason that she did not accompany Queen Victoria
to France as often as the Princess Henry. Her arrival
at Nice was usually later than that of the
Queen and she very seldom remained until the end
of Her Majesty's stay.</p>
<p>I remember, however, that, one year, they returned
to England together; and, in this connexion,
I can tell a story which goes to show how keenly
alive the great of this earth can sometimes be to the
smallest attentions paid them. The royal train,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>
which had left Nice in the morning, pulled up, at
five o'clock in the afternoon, as usual, at a little
country station between Avignon and Tarascon, in
order to enable the Queen to take her tea without
being inconvenienced by the jolting of the wheels.
Seeing me pacing the platform, the Princess Christian
stepped out and walked up and down beside
me. In the course of our conversation, she began
to talk about her children:</p>
<p>"When I think," she said, with a certain melancholy,
"that my daughter Victoria will be thirty
years old to-morrow—for to-morrow is her birthday!
How time flies!"</p>
<p>Princess Victoria was also one of the travelling-party.
As soon, therefore, as the Princess Christian
had left me, I scribbled a telegram to the special
commissary at Caen, in Normandy, where we
were to stop for a few minutes, on the following
day, on our way to Cherbourg, and told him to
order a bouquet and hand it to me as the train
passed through.</p>
<p class="b1">The next morning, when we entered the station
at Caen, I found my bouquet awaiting me: a modest
spray consisting of all the rustic flowers of the
fields which my worthy commissary had had gathered
in the morning dew. I at once presented it
to Princess Victoria, wishing her many happy returns
of her birthday; and I cannot say which of
the four of us—the Queen, the two princesses or
I—was most touched by the loving gratitude which
they all three expressed to me.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-369a.jpg" width="400" height="302"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">KING EDWARD ARRIVING AT THE ÉLYSÉE PALACE</p>
</div></div>
<p> <br /><br /></p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-369b.jpg" width="400" height="354"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">KING EDWARD ON THE WAY TO CHURCH</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p>
<h3 class="p2">5.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">But, as I have said above, of all Queen Victoria's
daughters, the one whom I knew best was
the Princess Henry of Battenberg. In point of
fact, she hardly ever left her august mother's side
from the day when her married bliss received so
cruel a blow in the tragic death of her husband
and when the distress of mind found a refuge and
peace in the affection of that same mother, whose
heart was always filled with the most delicate compassion
for every sorrow.</p>
<p>A close link had been formed between those two
women: the Princess Henry had become the confidant
of Queen Victoria's thoughts and was also,
very often, the intermediary of her acts of discreet
munificence. At Nice, she occupied the magnificent
Villa Liserb, close to the hotel at which the
Queen resided. Here I watched the games and the
physical development of the princess's four children,
Prince Alexander, Prince Maurice, Prince
Leopold and little Princess Ena, little thinking that
I should live to see the heavy crown of Charles V
and Philip II placed upon the pretty, golden hair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>
which was then still done up with pale-blue ribbons.
Day after day, for many years, I saw those same
children hail their grandmother's appearance with
cries of delight.</p>
<p>The daily drive in the grounds of the Villa Liserb
was in fact, one of Queen Victoria's favourite
pleasures. She went there in her chair drawn by
Jacquot, the white donkey, solemnly led by the
Hindoo servant whose gaudy attire, like a monstrous
flower, struck a loud note of colour against
the green of the surrounding foliage. Slowly and
smoothly, with infinite care, the little carriage advanced
along the garden-paths which the pines,
eucalyptus and olive trees shaded with their luxurious
tresses. The Queen, holding the reins for
form's sake, would cast her eyes from side to side
in search of her grandchildren, who were usually
crouching in the flower-beds or hiding behind the
trees, happy in constantly renewing the innocent
conspiracy of a surprise—always the same—which
they prepared for their grandmother and which consisted
in suddenly bursting out around her.</p>
<p>Or else a shuttlecock of a hoop would stray between
Jacquot's legs.</p>
<p>"Stop, Jacquot!" cried the children.</p>
<p>And Jacquot, best-tempered of donkeys, would
stop all the more readily as he knew that his patience
would be rewarded with a lump of sugar.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p>
<p>The Princess Henry of Battenberg spent long
hours in this wonderful smiling oasis, dividing her
time between the education of her children, which
she supervised and directed in person, and her own
intellectual pursuits, to which she devoted herself
ardently. She used to draw and paint very prettily,
at that time; and she never forgot to take her
sketch-book with her when accompanying the Queen
on her drives in the neighbourhood of Nice. She
sat and sketched while tea was being prepared in
some picturesque spot where the royal carriage regularly
made a prolonged halt.</p>
<p>She was a first-rate musician, played the harmonium
on Sundays in the chapel of the Hôtel Regina
and often went into the Catholic churches during
the services in order to listen to the sacred music,
which she preferred above all others. In this way,
she came to appreciate more particularly the talent
of a young organist called Pons, now a distinguished
composer, who, at that time, used to play
the organ at the church of Notre Dame at Nice.
This artist, who was a native of the south of France,
possessed a remarkable gift of improvisation which
amazed the princess so greatly that she was always
speaking of it to the Queen:</p>
<p>"You really ought to hear him," she would say.</p>
<p>"But he can't bring his organ to the hotel!" the
Queen replied, laughing.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p>
<p>"Why should you not go to his church? I assure
you that you will not be sorry."</p>
<p>The Queen, who was easily persuaded by her
daughter, ended by consenting to visit Notre Dame
one afternoon, on condition that she should be alone
there, with her suite, during the little recital which
the organist was to give for her benefit. Princess
Beatrice, who was delighted at attaining her object,
plied me with instructions so that the Queen might
have a genuine artistic surprise:</p>
<p>"Be sure and see that there is no one in the
church," she said to me, "and tell M. Pons to surpass
himself."</p>
<p>I went and called on the rector and the organist.
The former very kindly promised to take all the
necessary steps for his Church to be quite empty
during Her Majesty's visit. As for M. Pons, the
honour which the Queen was doing him almost
turned his head a little. He saw himself the equal
of Bach and would have accosted Mozart by his surname
if he had met him in the street.</p>
<p>"The Queen will be satisfied, I promise you," he
declared, in his southern sing-song.</p>
<p>Things passed very nearly as we hoped. At the
hour agreed upon, the royal landau stopped before
the door of the church; the Queen, accompanied by
the princess and a few persons of her suite, including
myself, entered the great nave, where only a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>
float-lights lit up golden stars in the spacious darkness.
When the Queen was seated in the arm-chair
which I had sent on beforehand, Pons began to shed
torrents of harmony upon our heads from his organ-loft
above.</p>
<p>Nothing would have disturbed our meditation,
but for a cat, an enormous black cat, which, after
prowling behind the pillars, suddenly came up to the
royal chair unperceived and jumped most disrespectfully
into Her Majesty's lap! Picture the excitement!
We drove it away. It returned. We
tried to drive it away again. But it was stubborn
in its affections and returned once more. Thereupon
the Queen, who was more surprised than annoyed,
resigned herself and accepted the curious adventure.
She stroked the animal and kept it with
her until the end of the recital.</p>
<h3 class="p2">6.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">When Princess Henry of Battenberg did not accompany
her mother on her drives—which happened
very rarely—she liked going to the Empress Eugénie,
who treated her as a daughter and who, as
everybody knows, was the godmother of Queen
Victoria Eugénie of Spain. The princess would
sometimes spend the whole afternoon at the villa of
Napoleon III's widow; one year indeed, she and
Princess Ena stayed there all through the winter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>
Now, on this occasion, I happened to find myself
placed in a very delicate position.</p>
<p>What occurred was this: the princess sent word
to me, one day, with the Empress's consent, inviting
me to dinner at the Villa Cyrnos. I was at
first a little perplexed. It seemed to me a rather
ticklish matter, considering my official situation, to
figure at the table of the ex-Empress of the French.
On the other hand, to refuse the invitation seemed
tantamount to insulting the daughter of the Queen
of England, to whom I was accredited. At last, I
resolved to swallow my scruples and accepted.</p>
<p>That evening, after dinner, when thanking the
Empress for her kindness, I could not help saying:</p>
<p>"I suppose, Madame, that there are very few
officials of the Republic who would have dared to
sit down at Your Majesty's table."</p>
<p>"To be equally frank with you," the Empress at
once replied, laughing, "I will ask you to believe,
my dear M. Paoli, that there are also very few officials
of the Republic whom I should have cared
to see seated there like yourself!"</p>
<h3 class="p2">7.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">I must not close the story of the periods which
I spent with the royal family at Nice without recalling
that, on some of those occasions, I also met
the Marchioness of Lorne, now Duchess of Argyll,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>
and the Duke of Connaught; but, to tell the truth,
I only caught glimpses of them, because of the
shortness of their visits.</p>
<p>I can also only mention quite casually the name
of Queen Alexandra, for the charming lady has
never stayed in France for any length of time.
With the exception of two visits of forty-eight
hours each, with which she honoured Paris when
she went to France with King Edward, she has confined
herself to passing through our country on her
way to Denmark or to join the royal yacht at Marseilles
or Genoa. On each of the journeys during
which I was attached to her person, she gave me
every sign of that captivating and bewitching kindness
of which she alone appears to possess the secret.
I also remember perceiving, as do all those who
approach her, the touching affection that unites her
to her sister, the Dowager Empress of Russia.
Each time that she left her at Calais, to go either
to Copenhagen or to the south, while the Empress
Marie Feodorovna was returning to St. Petersburg,
she never failed to say to me, in a voice full of
anxiety:</p>
<p>"M. Paoli, do take great care of my sister.
Watch over her attentively. I shall not know a
moment's peace until I hear that she has arrived at
the end of her journey."</p>
<p>The years have passed and it is not without pride<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>
that I reflect upon the fact that I have known four
generations of that glorious royal family of England!</p>
<p>But, alas, it makes me feel no younger!...</p>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a><br /><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a><br /><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">X</h2>
<p class="pn center p2 b1 large">THE KING OF CAMBODIA AND HIS
DANCING-GIRLS</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-381.jpg" width="400" height="228"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">THE KING OF CAMBODIA</p>
</div></div>
<h3 class="p2">1.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">I propose to conclude this stroll through my
royal portrait-gallery with the entertaining
story of the King of Cambodia. He was, so
to speak, my last "client," at least the last of those
whom I was "protecting" for the first time, for he
had never set foot in France when, three years ago,
I beheld him, in the bright light of a fine morning
in June, greeting with a loud laugh the port of Marseilles,
the gold-laced officials who had come to receive
him, the soldiers, the sailors, the porters and
the regimental band.</p>
<p>For he loved laughing. Hilarity with him was a
habit, a necessity; it burst forth like a flourish of
trumpets, it went off like a rocket at anything or
nothing, suddenly lighting up his elderly monkey-face
and revealing amidst the dark smudge that
formed his features a dazzling key-board of ivory
teeth.</p>
<p>Sisowath, King of Cambodia, struck me as a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>
yellow, dry, sinewy man who had been snowed upon,
for amid his hard stubble of shiny black hairs there
gleamed, over the temples, patches of white bristles
that bore witness to his five and sixty summers. He
still looked young, because of the slightness of his
figure; and his costume consisted of a singular miscellany
of Cambodian and European garments.</p>
<p>From the knees to the waist, his dress suggested
the East. Starting from the frontier formed by
his belt, the West resumed its rights and set the
fashion of the day before yesterday! His feet
were clad in shoes resembling a bishop's, with
broad, flat buckles, whence rose two spindle-shanks
confined in black silk stockings and ending in
a queer pair of breeches of a thin, silky, copper-coloured
material, something midway between a
cyclist's knickerbockers and a woman's petticoat and
known as the <i>sampot</i>, the national dress of Cambodia.
Over these breeches of uncertain cut fell
the graceless tails of an eighteenth-century dress-coat,
opening over a shirt-front crossed by the
broad ribbon of the Legion of Honour. Lastly,
this astonishing get-up was topped with a rusty tall
hat, dating back to the year 1830, which crowned
the monarch's head.</p>
<p>All this made him look like a carnival-reveller
who had come fresh from a fancy-dress ball.
Nevertheless, he took himself very seriously; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>
the French government treated him with every
consideration, for he represented a valuable asset
in the exercise of our protectorate over Cambodia.</p>
<p>Those acquainted with the traditions of the Cambodian
court will know that, in consenting to leave
his realms for a time in order to go to France, he
had broken every religious and political law. To
appease the just wrath of Buddha and relieve his
own conscience, before leaving his capital, Pnom-Penh,
he had sent magnificent offerings to the
tombs of the KneKne kings, bathed in lustral water
prepared by the prayers of sixty-seven bonzes, invoked
the emerald statue of the god Berdika and
accepted at the hands of the chief Brahmin a leaf
of scented amber, by way of a lucky charm.</p>
<p>It was really impossible to surround himself with
more potent safeguards and he had every reason to
be in a good humour, although he had flown into
a great rage on the passage at seeing his suite
abandoning themselves to the tortures of sea-sickness:</p>
<p>"I forbid you to be sick!" he shouted to them.
"Those are my orders: am I the King or am I not?"</p>
<p>Distracted by the impossibility of obeying, they
took refuge in the depths of the steamer and did
not reappear on deck until the ship approached the
Straits of Messina. And the saddened sovereign
was made to realise for the first time that he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>
not omnipotent. The fact made so great an impression
on his mind that, from that time forward,
he became excessively and almost inconveniently
polite. He shook hands with everybody he saw,
beginning with the flunkeys at the Marseilles Prefecture,
who lined the staircase as he went upstairs.</p>
<h3 class="p2">2.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">Keen as was the interest taken by the public in
Sisowath, it paled before the curiosity aroused by
his dancing-girls. They formed an integral part
of that extraordinary royal suite, in which figured
three of his ministers, four of his sons, his daughter,
two sons of King Norodom, his predecessor, and
eleven favourites accompanied by a swarm of
chamberlains, ladies of the bed-chamber and pages:
women old and young, at whose breasts hung hideous
little stunted, yellow, shrieking imps, from
whom they had refused to be separated.</p>
<p>On the other hand, amid the disorder of that
oriental horde, the <i>corps de ballet</i> constituted a
caste apart, haughty, sacerdotal and self-contained.
The twenty dancers came to France preceded by a
great reputation for beauty. It may have been the
result of beholding them in a different setting,
under a different sky; but this much is certain, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>
they did not appear to me in the same light in which
they had been depicted to us by enthusiastic travellers.</p>
<p>Sisowath's dancing-girls are not exactly pretty,
judged by our own standard of feminine beauty.
With their hard and close-cropped hair, their figures
like those of striplings, their thin, muscular legs
like those of young boys, their arms and hands like
those of little girls, they seem to belong to no definite
sex. They have something of the child about
them, something of the young warrior of antiquity
and something of the woman. Their usual dress,
which is half feminine and half masculine, consisting
of the famous <i>sampot</i> worn in creases between
their knees and their hips and of a silk shawl confining
their shoulders, crossed over the bust and
knotted at the loins, tends to heighten this curious
impression. But in the absence of beauty, they
possess grace, a supple, captivating, royal grace,
which is present in their every attitude and gesture;
they have a perfume of fabled legend to accompany
them, the sacred character of their functions to
ennoble them; lastly, they have their dances full
of mystery and majesty and art, their dances which
have been handed down faithfully in the course of
the ages and whose every movement, whose every
deft curve remains inscribed on the bas-reliefs of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>
ruins of Ankor. For these reasons, they are beautiful,
with the special beauty that clings to remote,
inscrutable and fragile things.</p>
<p>They are all girls of good extraction, for it is
an honour much sought after by the noble families
of Cambodia to have a child admitted to the King's
troop of dancers. Contrary to what has sometimes
been asserted, the dancing-girls do not form
part of the royal harem; they are considered a sort
of vestals; virginal and radiant, they perform, in
dancing, a more or less religious rite; and this is
the only pleasure which they provide for their
sovereign lord the King.</p>
<p>When they accompanied Sisowath to France,
they were under the management of the King's own
eldest daughter, the Princess Soumphady, an ugly,
cross-grained old maid who ruled them with an iron
hand. The "stars" were four principal dancers
whose names seemed to have been picked, like the
King's leaves of scented amber, in some sacred
grove of Buddha's mysterious realm: they were
called Mesdemoiselles Mih, Pho, Nuy and Pruong.</p>
<h3 class="p2">3.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">When the whole party were landed, they had to
be put up; and this was no easy matter. The
Marseilles Prefecture was hardly large enough to
house the King's fabulous and cumbrous retinue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>
We distributed its members over some of the
neighbouring houses; but they spent their days at
the Prefecture, which was then and there transformed
into the camp of an Asiatic caravan. The
ante-rooms and passages were blocked with pieces
of luggage each quainter than the other. Heaped
up promiscuously were jewel-cases, dress-trunks,
cases of opium, bales of rice and sacks of coal, for
the Cambodians, fearing lest they should fail to find
in Europe the coal which they use to cook their
rice, had insisted, at all costs, on bringing with them
two-hundred sacks, which now lay trailing about
upon the Smyrna rugs!</p>
<p>When, on the evening of his arrival, I pushed my
way through this medley of incongruous baggage,
to present myself to the King, of whom I had
caught but a passing glimpse on the Marseilles
quays, M. Gautret, the colonial administrator who
had travelled with our guests, said to me:</p>
<p>"His Majesty is at dinner, but wishes to see you.
Come this way."</p>
<p>Shall I ever forget that audience? Sisowath sat
at a large table, surrounded by his family, his
ministers, his favourites and his dancing-girls,
while, squatting in a corner on the floor, were half-a-dozen
musicians—His Majesty's private band—scraping
away like mad on frail-sounding instruments.
The King was eating salt-fish which had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>
been prepared for him by his own cooks. He was
the only one to use a knife and fork. The others
did not care for such luxuries; at intervals, a waiter
handed round a large gold bowl filled with rice, into
which ministers, favourites, and dancing-girls
dipped their hands, subsequently transferring the
contents to their mouths.</p>
<p>When M. Gautret had mentioned my name and
explained the nature of my functions, the King,
who was gloating over his loathsome fish, looked
up, gave me his hand and, with his everlasting
noisy laugh, flung me a few vapid monosyllables:</p>
<p>"Glad ... Friend ... Long live
France!"</p>
<p>Our conversation went on no further on that day.
The next morning, we visited together the sights of
Marseilles and its Colonial Exhibition. Sisowath,
though very loquacious, was astonished at nothing,
or at least pretended not to be. His dancers and
favourites, on the other hand, were astonished at
everything. They pawed the red-silk chairs for
ever so long before venturing to sit upon the extreme
edge, so great was their fear of spoiling them:
most often, after a preliminary hesitation, they
would end by settling down upon the floor, where
they felt more at home. And yet they were not
devoid of tact, as they showed when I took them,
at the King's wish, to see the fine church of Notre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>
Dame de la Garde, which, from the top of its rock,
commands a view of the city, the surrounding
country and the sea. They wanted to go up to the
sanctuary and entered it with the same respectful
demeanour which they would have displayed in the
most sacred of their own pagodas. When we explained
to them that the thousands of ex-votos
which adorn the walls of the chapel represent so
many tokens of pious gratitude, their eyes, like the
King of Thule's, filled with tears and they suddenly
prostrated themselves just as they might have
done before the images of their own Buddhas.</p>
<p>During this time, the King, who had fished out
a pair of white gloves and a white tie and adorned
his <i>sampot</i> with an emerald belt, stood smiling at
the Marseillaise, which was being performed in his
honour, and, as I afterwards heard, smiling at the
fair <i>Marseillese</i> as well.</p>
<p>Until then, I had enjoyed but a foretaste of the
life and manners of the Cambodian Court. The
stay which Sisowath and his suite were about to
make in Paris was to enlighten me on this subject
for good and all.</p>
<p>After three days' driving through the streets of
Marseilles, the royal caravan set out for the capital,
where the French government had resolved to give
it an official reception and to entertain it at the
expense of the nation. With this object in view,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>
the government had hired a private house in the
Avenue Malakoff and prudently furnished it from
the national depository with chairs and tables "that
need fear no damage."</p>
<p>Meanwhile, the Colonial Office had appointed me
superintendent-in-chief of this novel "palace" and
I had to take up my abode there during the whole
of our royal guest's stay. The result was that, during
the three weeks which I spent amid these
picturesque surroundings, I enjoyed all the attractions
of the most curiously exotic life that could
possibly be imagined.</p>
<p>The bed-room allotted to me opened upon the
passage containing the King's apartments; so that
I may be said to have occupied a front seat at the
permanent and delicious entertainment provided by
the Cambodian court for the benefit of those admitted
to its privacy.</p>
<p>What struck me first of all was the indiscreet
familiarity of His Majesty's family and favourites.
Princes, ministers and favourites, spent their lives
in the passages and walked in and out of my room
with an astonishing absence of constraint and in
the airiest of costumes. If I happened to be at
home, they paid no attention to my presence: they
explored the room, poked about in the corners,
tried the springs of my bed, asked me for cigarettes,
examined my brushes and combs, smiled and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span>
went away. When I was out, they entered just
the same, emptied my cigar and cigarette-boxes,
sat down on my carpet and exchanged remarks that
may have been jocular for all I know: I never found
out.</p>
<p>Anxious to avoid any sort of friction, I made no
complaint. I contented myself with locking up
my personal belongings and replacing my boxes of
Havanas with boxes of penny cigars; but my
plunderers held different views; the ladies, especially,
who had learnt to distinguish between good
cigars and common "<i>Sénateurs</i>" expressed their
rage and vexation with violent gestures and resolved
thenceforth to give me the cold shoulder—which
was more than I had hoped for.</p>
<p>There remained another drawback to which I
had, willy-nilly to submit until the end. It consisted
of Sisowath's unpleasant habit of walking
up and down the passages at night, talking and
laughing with his suite, while his orchestra tinkled
out the "national" airs to an accompaniment of
tambourines and cymbals and while the brats kept
crying and squalling, notwithstanding the efforts
of their mothers, who put lighted cigarettes between
the children's lips to make them stop. It
was simply maddening; and, when I tried to make
a discreet protest, I was told that, as His Majesty
took a siesta during the day, he had no need for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>
sleep at night. The argument admitted of no reply
and I had to accept the inevitable.</p>
<p>On the other hand, I enjoyed a few compensations.
I was invited, from time to time, to assist
at the King's toilet when he donned his gala clothes
to go to an official dinner or a ceremony of one kind
or another. After he had finished his ablutions—for
he was always very particular about his person—his
wives proceeded to dress him. They helped
him into a gorgeous green and gold <i>sampot</i> and a
brocaded tunic and put round his throat a sort of
necklace resembling the gorget of a coat of mail
and made of dull gold set with precious stones,
ending at the shoulders in two sheets of gold that
stuck out on either side like wings. They next
girt his waist, arms and ankles with a belt and
bracelets encrusted with exquisite gems. Lastly,
they took away his rusty and antiquated old "topper"
and gave him in exchange a wide Cambodian
felt hat, surmounted by a kind of three-storied
tower running into a point, adorned with gold
chasings and literally paved with diamonds and
emeralds. Thus attired, Sisowath looked very
grand: he resembled the statue of a Hindoo god
removed from its pagoda.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, western civilisation began stealthily
to exert its formidable influence over his tastes, if
not his habits. We had not been a week in Paris<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span>
before our guest thought it better, on his afternoon
excursions, to replace the <i>sampot</i> with the conventional
European trousers and his out-of-date cutaway
with a faultless frock-coat. But for his yellow
complexion, his slanting eyes and his woolly
hair, he would have looked a regular dandy!</p>
<p class="b1">Ever eager to appear good-natured and polite,
he kissed the daughters of the hall-porter at the
Colonial Office, each time he went to the Pavillion
de Flore, and shook hands with the messengers at
the Foreign Office and with all the salesmen at
the Bon Marché, which he made a point of visiting.
Again, when passing through the Place Victor-Hugo,
he never failed to take off his hat with a
great flourish to our national poet. Lastly, I had
the greatest difficulty in keeping him from sending
sacred offerings to the tomb of Napoleon I, "whom
we hold in veneration in Cambodia," he explained
to me through the interpreter. Hearing, on the
other hand, that European sovereigns are accustomed
to leave their cards on certain official
personages, he asked me to order him a hundred
worded as follows:</p>
<div class="bord">
<p class="pn center mid">PREAS BAT SOMDACH PREAS SISOWATH<br /><br />
CHOM CHAKREPONGS.</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span></p>
<h3 class="p2">4.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">Nevertheless, in spite of the ever fresh surprises
which Paris had in store for him and of their undoubted
attraction for his mind, the King soon
began to feel a certain lassitude:</p>
<p>"Paris," he said to me, "is a wonderful, but tiring
city. The houses are too high and there are
too many carriages. How is it that you still allow
horse-carriages? If I were the master here,
I would abolish them and allow nothing but motors."</p>
<p>When he had visited the public buildings and
done the sights and been to Fontainebleau and Versailles
and Compiègne and had the mechanism of
the phonographs and cinematographs explained to
him he began to bore himself. He then thought
of his dancing-girls, whom he had left behind at
Marseilles, and sent for them to Paris on the pretext
of exhibiting them at a garden-party given by
the president of the republic at the Élysée. One
fine morning, they all landed at the Gare de Lyon,
a little bewildered, a little flurried, in the charge of
the grim Princess Soumphady, who was dressed
in a violet <i>sampot</i>, with a stream of diamonds round
her neck. They arrived looking like so many lost
sheep, accompanied by their six readers, their eight
singers, their four dressers, their two comedians
and their six musicians.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p>
<p>The dancers' advent created quite a sensation
in the district of the Avenue Malakoff. They were
quartered opposite the royal "palace," in a building
at the back of a courtyard, and, when at last good
King Sisowath saw them from his balcony, a broad
smile of happiness lit up his yellow face.</p>
<p>They rehearsed their ballets every morning in
a large room that did duty as a theatre. I was allowed
to look on, as a special favour, and I was
thus able to watch pretty closely those curious and
amazingly artistic little creatures and their dances.</p>
<p>Their ballets always began with a musical prelude
performed upon brass and bamboo instruments.
Then, while some of the women struck up
a religious chant and others clapped their hands in
measured time, the dancers left the group one by
one, shooting out and meeting in the ring; and a
regular fanciful, childish drama was suggested by
their movements, their gestures and their attitudes,
which contrasted strangely with the sacerdotal repose
of their features. They looked, at one time,
like large, living flowers; at another, like automatic
dolls.</p>
<p>The dances provided an odd medley of Moorish
and Spanish steps. Sometimes, the stomach would
sway to and fro, as though one were watching a
dance of Egyptian almes; at other times, the legs
quivered and the dancer stamped her feet, raised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>
her arms, jerked her hips as though she meant to
give us some Andalusian <i>jota</i> or <i>habanera</i>. And
in those faces, which seemed inanimate beneath
their fixed smiles, nothing allowed the inner feelings
of the soul to penetrate: yet what suggestive
mimicry was there, what harmonious poses and
what marvellous costumes!</p>
<p>The Cambodian ballet-girls, when dancing in
public, wear clothes that are simply fairy-like.
They have bodices of silk stitched with gold and
adorned with precious stones. These bodices are
very heavy and are fitted upon them and sewn before
each performance, so they form as it were a
new skin and reveal with a clearness that is nothing
short of impressive the slightest undulations of
the body.</p>
<p>The dressers take two or three hours to clothe
the dancers, after which they paint the girls' faces
and deck them out with bracelets, necklaces and
rings of priceless value. Sometimes also the
dancers' fingers are slipped into long, bent, golden
claws, which describe harmonious curves in space.</p>
<p class="b1">Lastly, the head-dress consists of either the
traditional <i>pnom</i>—a sort of pointed hat, all of gold
and fastened on by clutches that grip the head—or
a wreath of enormous flowers, or else of a pale-tinted
silk handkerchief rolled low over the temples.</p>
<div class="figcenter">
<img src="images/ill-399.jpg" width="400" height="227"
alt=""
title="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="pn center">KING SISOWATH'S DANCERS BEFORE THE PRESIDENT AT THE ÉLYSÉE PALACE</p>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p>
<p class="p1">The dancers and their dances achieved, as may
be imagined, no small success, first at the Elysée
and afterwards in the Bois de Boulogne, where a
gala performance was given, in the open-air
theatre of the Pré Catelan, by the light of the
electric lamps. Between whiles, they took drives
through Paris, which gave rise to all sorts of astonished
and enthusiastic manifestations on their
part, much to the delight of their guides; for they
had the mental attitude of little girls and, when,
after a week, they had to go back to Marseilles,
where they formed the principal attraction at the
Colonial Exhibition, their despair was something
immense. It was as much as we could do to console
them by presenting them all with mechanical rabbits
and unbreakable dolls.</p>
<p>And the King, once more, was bored. He was
so thoroughly bored that, a few days after the departure
of his ballet-girls, he resolved to go and
spend a couple of days at Nancy, in order to see
a dozen or two young Cambodians who had been
attending the local industrial school for the last
twelve-month. The organising of this visit was
very troublesome, for the King had acquired a
taste for military display and insisted upon being
received at Nancy with full honours, such as he
had been used to in Paris. Worse still, the trip
very nearly ended in disaster, entirely through
Sisowath's own fault.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p>
<p>The inhabitants of Nancy, amused and delighted
by the show of Oriental luxury that met their eyes,
gave the King an enthusiastic ovation far in excess
of his expectations. His gratitude was such
that, on the evening of his arrival, he took it into
his head to manifest his delight by flinging handfuls
of silver through the windows of the Prefecture
to the crowd that stood cheering him on the
Place Stanislas! The reader can picture the effect
of this beneficent shower. Suddenly, loud
cries and shouts were heard and a regular battle
was fought in front of the Prefecture, for one and
all wished to profit by the royal largesse.</p>
<p>I at once rushed up to the King and begged him
to stop this dangerous game. But Sisowath, who
was madly diverted by the sight, positively refused
to yield to my entreaties. He even asked to have a
thousand-franc note changed for gold.</p>
<p>Seeing that persuasion was of no avail, I took
a quick and bold resolve. I had him removed from
the window by force, undeterred by the insults with
which he overwhelmed me in the Cambodian tongue.</p>
<p>But I had not yet come to the end of my emotions:
a serio-comic incident followed apace. Sisowath,
suddenly evading the watchfulness of my inspectors,
who dared not detain him like a common
malefactor, escaped, darted down the stairs, four
steps at a time, opened a window on the ground<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>
floor and, with hoarse cries, began to fling into
the square all the <i>louis d'or</i> which he had in his possession.
The moment he heard us coming, quick as
lightning he was off and flew to another window.
For a quarter of an hour, a mad steeple-chase was
kept up through all the rooms of the Prefecture,
amid the roars of the excited crowd in the streets.</p>
<p>Fortunately, the King soon grew tired and accepted
his defeat. As for me, I naturally looked
upon my disgrace as assured. But Sisowath,
thank goodness, was not vindictive. The next
morning, he gave me his hand and, bursting into
loud laughter, contented himself with saying:</p>
<p>"Very funny!"</p>
<h3 class="p2">5.</h3>
<p class="pn p1">A week later, he took ship at Marseilles, with his
court, to return to Cambodia. When I said good-bye
to him on the deck of the steamer, he appeared
heart-broken at having to leave our country.
Heart-broken, too, seemed the little dancing-girls
squatting at the foot of the mast, with their
mechanical rabbits and their unbreakable dolls—the
last keepsake to remind them of their stay in Paris—which
they squeezed fondly in their arms.</p>
<p>When, at length, the hour of parting had struck,
good King Sisowath, greatly moved, called me to
his side:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p>
<p>"Here," he said. "Present for you."</p>
<p>And he handed me a parcel done up in a pink-silk
handkerchief.</p>
<p>As soon as I was on shore, I hastened to open
it; to my great confusion, it contained a splendid
<i>sampot</i> made of fine cloth of gold. The King of
Cambodia had presented me with his state breeches,
which were all that remained to me of my last
"client" and of my Oriental dreams!</p>
<p> </p>
<hr class="chap" />
</div>
<div class="sum">
<p class="pn center p4 large">FOOTNOTES:</p>
<div class="footnotes">
<div class="footnote">
<p class="pfn"><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> In France, the premiership is very often held in conjunction with
the portfolio of the Interior, or Home Office.—<i>Translator's Note.</i></p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="pfn"><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The <i>habit à la française</i>, once a military cloak, now used purely
for livery, is a heavily embroidered coat, similar to that of an
English flunkey, but of a less voluminous cut and shorter.—<i>Translator's
Note.</i></p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="pfn"><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> "Oho! An empress comes this way!"—<i>Translator's Note.</i></p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="pfn"><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> <i>Jonkheer</i> is a Dutch hereditary title of nobility, ranking below
that of baron.—<i>Translator's Note.</i></p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="pfn"><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> The family of Dumonceau is of Belgian origin and derives from
an ancestor in the parish of Saint-Géry, Brussels.—<i>Translator's Note.</i></p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="pfn"><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Boniface of Savoy was nominated to the Archbishopric of Canterbury,
in 1241, by King Henry III of England, who had married
Boniface's niece Eleanor, daughter of Raymond Berengar, Count of
Provence, and Beatrix of Savoy.—<i>Translator's Note.</i></p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p class="pfn"><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> The late King of the Belgians shared the national peculiarity of
interlarding his French with a succession of <i>savez-vous</i>.—<i>Translator's
Note.</i></p></div></div>
</div>
<div class="sum">
<p> </p>
<div class="transnote p4">
<p class="pn center large"><b>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</b></p><br />
<p class="ptn">
—Plain print and punctuation errors were corrected.
</p>
<p class="ptn">
—All chapter headers are duplicated in original book. The transcriber
has deleted one of each set as unnecessary.
</p>
<p class="ptn">
—Table of Contents missing in original book; it has been produced and added by transcriber.
</p>
<p class="ptn">
—Section header "1." at chapter IX missing in original book; it has been added by transcriber.
</p>
</div></div>
<p> </p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45786 ***</div>
</body>
</html>
|
